Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick
by Royalty09
Summary: When your dad is a crazed psychiatrist who once tried to destroy an entire city, and your uncle is a professional killer, it's a sure bet that life isn't going to be easy. This is the story of Ava Martinez.
1. Prologue

The first time she had ever seen him, actually, the first time she _remembered_ having seen him; she'd been terrified.

Her mother would later say that she had met him many times before that night, but this was the first image of him that had burned its way into her long term memory.

Ava had been just three years old that cold October night, when a knock at the door had roused her from her sleep during the wee hours of the morning. She was about to leave her bed and flee to her mothers room when the sound of the front door opening, followed by a pained moan and the shuffling of two pairs of feet had stopped her.

"I can't believe this, Jackson. I haven't seen you in six months and this is how you decide to show up?" her mother had whispered.

"I just couldn't stay away," an unfamiliar male voice responded weakly.

By now, Ava's curiosity had gotten the better of her. She hopped out of bed and padded quietly down the hall, coming to a stop beside the door to the main bathroom that stood open scarcely more than an inch.

"I told you, Jackson; I won't have this in my home," her mother scolded.

"I didn't _plan_ on this, sweetheart. There was no where else to go. I'm sorry."

Ava looked at the man as her mother cleaned his beaten and bloodied face. He looked like a monster, but as her mother wiped all the blood away, she realized he wasn't so scary after all.

"What the hell happened?" her mother asked, still speaking in a hushed tone.

"Fight broke out…you should see the other guy," the man said and winked at her.

"Are you _trying_ to turn yourself into a topographical map of the Himalayas? I few more scars and you'll be there, Jackson."

"Don't make me laugh," he groaned. "I think I cracked a rib."

Ava couldn't see her mother's expression, but her gestures were affectionate as she dabbed his wounds with a moist cloth; she cared about this man, and his eyes….even at her young age, Ava knew they were the same as her own.

She tip toed down the hall and jumped back into bed seconds before her mother had stepped out of the bathroom. As she had anticipated, her mother came in to check on her and she had pretended to be asleep, managing to drift off while keeping up the masquerade.

When she woke later that morning and walked into the living room, she saw the strange man splayed out on their couch, snoring softly.

Her mother was in the recliner directly across from him. She was also asleep and Ava crawled into her lap, waking her.

"Mama, is that daddy?"

The man's eyes popped open in an instant and he looked at her mother with uncertainty.

"No, baby," she had said without missing a beat. "Say hello to your Uncle Jack."

"Hi, Uncle Jack," Ava said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Hi, angel," he responded.

**Author's Note: I've pretty much retired the character of Vanessa. She'll have a supporting role, but this is Ava's story. Being the daughter of the infamous Scarecrow will make life tough enough….but things are about to get worse!**

**I hope you all enjoy. The first full length chapter should be up tomorrow or the next day.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being a wonderful sounding board.**


	2. Chapter 1

"_Mom, do you love Uncle Jack?"_

"_I suppose so," her mom had answered somewhat awkwardly, after giving it some thought._

"_Does he love you?"_

"_He'd better. Who else would put up with him?"_

"_How come the two of you haven't gotten married?" Ava had asked._

_She was twelve at the time and her mother marrying Uncle Jack seemed like the solution to all of life's problems. It would mean a move to a nicer neighborhood, a different school and best of all, they would all be together, all the time; she'd be part of a traditional family, something she had never known._

_Her mother just looked at her blankly. "There are different kinds of love, Munchkin. Uncle Jack and I don't have those kinds of feelings for each other," she answered._

"_Why not?"_

"_It's complicated; when you're older, you'll understand."_

Ava had come to understand a lot of things. She understood that what had started as the occasional barb when she was twelve had evolved over the course of the past three years into full fledged bullying. She did her best to hide the extent of it from her mother but if it went on much longer, _she'd_ marry Uncle Jack or anyone else, for that matter, as long as they promised to take her away from all this.

"Hey look, it's the Scarecrow," someone said.

_Oh, that's original; I haven't been called Scarecrow in fifteen minutes._

"Scarecrow, Scarecrow," her fellow classmates chanted as she walked down the halls, trying to pick up her English homework and make it to class before the bell rang.

Ignoring the cat calls that were steadily becoming an everyday part of her life, Ava opened her locker and groaned when she found it filled from top to bottom with straw.

_At least the imbeciles came up with something original this time._

Ava could hear Tim, the slack-jawed quarterback of the football team and his equally vacant girlfriend, Andrea laughing at her misfortune.

"Strong as an ox and almost as smart," Ava said as she picked up a handful of straw and threw it in his face.

"Don't blame him, Scarecrow, he didn't do it, but I wish he had," Andrea taunted.

"That's tough talk coming from girl who's given more rides than Greyhound."

Ava turned her attention back to her locker and dumped the straw onto the floor, trying her best to ignore the continuing insults Andrea hurled her way. Suddenly, something hit her hard on the back of the head. Laughter erupted behind her again and Ava glanced down at the offending object, feeling the onset of what would likely be a nasty headache.

"I said look at me when I'm talking to you, bitch!" Andrea yelled.

_Enough of this turn-the-other-cheek stuff that Mom's always preaching. That wench just threw a book at me!_

During times like this, Ava would often stop and ask herself; what would Uncle Jack do?

Abandoning her books for the time being, Ava marched over to Andrea and looked her straight in the eyes. Though she tried to keep her cool, Andrea was obviously unnerved by her intense gaze; most people were. Ava had her fathers eyes; Uncle Jack had them too and they had a power all their own. They could be warm and welcoming one minute and cold as ice the next.

"I'm looking at you now, Sweetie," Ava said, just before she grabbed Andrea by her bleached blonde ponytail and slammed her head against the wall.

Another day, another fight, another trip to the guidance counselor; at least he had promised to mention the accelerated program to her mother again before he told her about the altercation. That had become a constant source of contention between the two of them. Her mother had been actively trying to keep her out of that program for the past year. It seemed as if she were afraid of her intelligence, afraid of her potential. Ava could never understand why. Her mother had admitted that she had loved her father before he had become sick; why wouldn't she want her to make the most of the intelligence he had passed on? Wouldn't that be the best way to honor his memory?

By her mothers own account, her father had been a good man and a brilliant psychiatrist before he'd become misguided, thinking that he could single handedly purge the city of crime and corruption. His crusade for justice had led him to do many terrible things. When _he_ had been exposed to his toxin accidentally, he'd gone mad and nearly destroyed Gotham. A year later, he'd come after her mother again, kidnapping her and taking her out of the city, but after a year of being on the lam, his luck had run out. Carmine Falcone's family had put a contract out on his life and one of their hit men had caught up to them. Her mother had managed to escape, but he hadn't been so lucky. Rumor had it, he'd been shot, and the trailer he'd been keeping her mother in had been burned to the ground. But Ava had been told her father had actually died long before that. The person who had died up in the mountains that day was merely the shadow of what had once been a better man. Shadow or not, Ava was paying the price for his past transgressions. Her very existence was proof that he had breeched his professional code of ethics by becoming romantically involved with a patient and just like him, Ava had cruelly been dubbed, Scarecrow.

The longer she lived here, the more she began to agree with her father's point of view. This city _should_ be destroyed. Everyday her locker would be vandalized, everyday her fellow students yelled obscenities at her as she walked down the halls and everyday their tactics became more cruel and extreme. It seemed that whenever Ava fought back, _she _was punished. Where was the justice in that?

Shortly after her father had disappeared, Uncle Jack, his brother, had shown up to look out for them. Ava had been told that that was what her father would have wanted.

Uncle Jack always had a way of coming by when times were tough. Whenever her mother seemed depressed or they were having trouble making ends meet, he would always be there. It was almost like he was watching them.

That's who Ava was on her way to see this afternoon. She couldn't bring herself to go home just yet, knowing that another fight awaited her the second she walked through the door.

She could always tell Uncle Jack about her problems. Everything was cut-and-dry with him; if a bully messed with you, you fought back; it was as simple as that. Ava was _not_ going to be tormented everyday of her life like her father had been and Uncle Jack never disagreed with her on that. He'd catch hell from her mom sometimes over the advice he'd given, but Ava always found his outlook refreshing.

She knocked on the door to his apartment. Unlike their first floor dwelling on the other side of town, Uncle Jack was on the tenth floor of this luxury high rise and had a much better view, but then again, he always seemed to be taken with creature comforts. He drove a BMW, wore expensive, tailored suits and with that one exception twelve years ago, he'd always been impeccably groomed. He traveled a lot for his job, but the field of software sales had obviously been good to him. Ava couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of his comfortable financial situation as she waited for him to answer the door.

A minute passed and there was no sign of him. She knocked one more time, and still he didn't respond.

_Damn…_

Ava shrugged her shoulders and headed back towards the elevators. When she stepped onto the street, she noticed that the sun was beginning to set. Like it or not, she had to get home.

Trying to dawdle as much as humanly possible, Ava stopped in front of a bakery and stared longingly at one of the chocolate cakes. After a day like today, she was craving a chocolate fix, but had no money on her. She looked at her own reflection in the store front window and sighed; nothing but a gangling teenager – the spitting image of her mother, with her father's startling eyes, full lips and oddly enough, height. At fifteen, she already stood eye to eye with Uncle Jack. Her mother kept telling her that she was going to break all the boys' hearts someday; she wondered when that day was supposed to arrive. Ava sulked a moment longer before a new image reflected in the glass, caught her eye. Standing at the corner, two blocks up, waiting to cross, was a man dressed in a black suit, wearing sunglasses in the evening. It was the sunglasses that had initially grabbed her attention. It seemed strange that someone would be wearing them at this time of day.

"_Is that Uncle Jack?"_ she wondered as she walked closer.

He was talking on his cell phone and she watched as he ended the call abruptly, and dashed across the street.

"Uncle Jack!" she yelled.

Several people turned in her direction, but he wasn't one of them. He was moving so swiftly; she almost had to run to keep from losing sight of him. Rather than make a public spectacle of herself again, Ava decided to get a bit closer before attempting to call his name a second time.

They were going into an area of Gotham that she liked to refer to as, the demilitarized zone; there was nothing here but desolate buildings and run down warehouses.

_Where the hell is he going?_

He rounded the corner and when she entered the same alley, moments later, he was gone. All the other buildings on this particular street had been torn down one-by-one as part of the plan to rejuvenate the neighborhood; only one remained. Ava figured that, unless he had learned how to fly or become invisible, he must be in there. When she heard a high pitched shriek and the whirring sound of a power drill, she froze in place. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run away, but out of concern for her uncle, she cautiously approached one of the broken out windows and looked inside.

What she saw flew in the face of everything she had even been told and turned her whole life upside down.

**Author's Note: I'm thinking of starting each chapter with a flashback. It's a nice unifying theme and we'll get to see what's been going on between Jackson, Vanessa and Ava over the years. We'll also find out what happened between Bruce and Vanessa! I hope you enjoy it.**

**As you can see, Vanessa has sugar coated the past (and by sugar coated, I mean deceived) as much as possible and Ava knows nothing about what her "Uncle Jack" does for a living. That's all about to change.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being my sounding board and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	3. Chapter 2

_Vanessa opened the door that night and stared at him without so much as a hint of emotion. The only thing he could see in her eyes was fatigue._

"_Is something wrong?" Jackson asked as he stepped inside._

_Two weeks had passed since he'd last seen her. Jackson wasn't expecting her to throw rose petals at his feet, but he had hoped for a warmer welcome than this._

"_What do you want?" she asked._

"_It's nice to see you too, Sweetheart."_

"_Why are you here? Did you screw up another job or something?"_

_Vanessa turned her back to him and strode down the hallway into the kitchen. He'd never seen her act so antagonistic before and he chased after her, grabbing hold of her wrist and forcing her to turn toward him._

"_What's your problem, Vanessa? I didn't come here to be your whipping boy."_

"_Then why **do** you keep coming here, Jackson?"_

"_Well, I can think of **two** reasons," he responded, referring to her and her daughter, who had just turned one year old the day before._

"_Two reasons; what might they be? Lingering guilt over kidnapping me and pity for a rape victim?'_

_Jackson was taken aback by what she said and let go of her wrist. Already, the tough girl routine was fading and he watched as her eyes glazed over._

"_Pity for a rape victim; this isn't like you Vanessa, what's going on?"_

_Vanessa sat at the kitchen table and Jackson pulled up a chair along side her. He watched her expectantly, waiting for her answer._

"_I'm sorry, Jackson," she said and her voice caught in her throat. "I just…I haven't been sleeping well this week."_

"_Why, what's happened?"_

"_I started getting these phone calls; five times a night, every night, for the past six days now. Creepy, is the only word I can think of to describe them. It's just silence and then this laugh; it's the most horrifying laugh I've ever heard, and then he hangs up."_

_Vanessa leaned forward in her chair, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth. "I just want it to stop. Why can't they leave me alone?"_

"_Where has Bruce been during all of this?" Jackson asked with anger flaring up in his voice._

"_We split up two weeks ago."_

"_Was that your decision, or his?" _

"_His…I don't know, mutual, I guess. Things were getting too complicated and he thought being involved with him would put me in danger," she looked up at Jackson and laughed sardonically, "and he thinks I'm hung up on you."_

"_Are you?" Jackson asked._

_He was still waiting for her response when the phone rang. "**A conversation for another time," **he thought as he motioned for Vanessa to remain seated while he answered the phone._

"_Who is this?" he asked into the dead silence that waited. Shortly thereafter, the maniacal laughter Vanessa had mentioned began._

"_Listen to me, freak, call her again and you'll be wearing your tongue for a necktie. That's a promise."_

_The laughter stopped abruptly as the phone went dead and Jackson looked back toward Vanessa. She was watching him and he could see she was trembling._

"_Get some sleep, Sweetheart; **I'll **take care of this," he said, shaking his head in disgust._

_Picking up on the source of his anger, Vanessa said, "Bruce doesn't know about the calls, Jackson."_

"_Sleeps all day, dresses up like a bat to fight crime at night, meanwhile, you're here alone getting obscene phone calls," he muttered._

"_That's not how it is. You're blowing it out of proportion."_

"_Stop defending him, Vanessa. He always put you second. I just wish you had told me about this sooner."_

"_What are you going to do?"_

"_Make some calls of my own. This shit is going to stop tonight. Now, get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."_

_Though Jackson had never found the culprit, the calls had stopped after that night, just as he had promised. When he woke from his usual spot on the couch that morning, he looked at his watch and saw that it was 6:00 a.m. Vanessa was already awake and the smell of coffee permeated the apartment._

"_We were interrupted before you had a chance to give me an answer last night," he said as he came up behind her._

"_What was the question?"_

"_Is Bruce right, are you hung up on me, Sweetheart?"_

_Her hand lay flat against the kitchen table and he covered it with his own. He felt her stiffen but knew she was not afraid. There would be no phone calls this morning, no interruptions. He stood there with her and waited for the answer…_

"Did you think you'd get away with this, Marcus? Who did you talk to?" Jackson heard his associate ask as he stepped into the warehouse.

"Sorry, I'm late," he said, standing in the shadows, making sure his face was obscured until the last possible second. Even after all this time, his face still had a profound effect on people who traveled in the less up-to-date circles of Gotham's underworld. There were some who insisted that Jonathan Crane was still alive and like Elvis and Big Foot, there were plenty of unsubstantiated sightings to go around.

"Not a problem, boss. Marcus and I were just getting down to the nitty-gritty."

Jackson liked his new partner Rick, a twenty-five year old rookie with a lot of potential. He never questioned an order, never gave Jackson a hard time and always seemed to be in a chipper mood. They were going to get along just fine and he had been doing quite well on his own while he waited for Jackson to arrive. The offending party in the matter, Marcus, was duct taped to a chair, sweat poured down his face in rivulets as he moaned in pain. Jackson saw blood pooling around the man's feet and knew that Rick had already drilled his ankles. Apparently, Marcus had been less than forthcoming with his answers. Jackson felt a little sorry for him, but you reap what you sow. Stealing from the Falcone's was like playing with fire…you always got burned.

It turned out that Marcus was skimming from each and every shipment that had come in over the past nine months; little things here and there, hoping that if he kept the amount small, no one would notice. But like all thieves, he'd gotten greedy and he took more and more, presenting these stolen goods as gifts to his family and the numerous girlfriends he kept hidden from his wife. One of them was a fifteen year old girl, living on her own in the Narrows. She sold the lavish gifts he showered upon her, needing food far more than fur coats. The poor thing was the same age as Ava, just a baby; she shouldn't have to suffer the attentions of this pedophile in order to put food on the table.

It was the girl's side business that had led to Marcus's downfall. When Falcone's men saw her selling small portions of _their_ stolen goods on the street, they sent Jackson down to talk to her. The girl had ratted Marcus out in less than half a second. Jackson didn't even need to threaten or intimidate her and he was thankful for that. She had offered him sex if he promised to let her keep the merchandise and leave her be, but he had refused. Instead, he took the items and brought her to Jessica's House, where Vanessa had been more than happy to take her in. Despite her having split with Bruce Wayne years ago, the house had stayed open. The self righteous billionaire had done one thing right.

"I didn't talk to anybody. I didn't take that much to begin with, I promise, I'll get it all back," Marcus wailed.

Once he knew he'd been found out, Marcus had gone looking for protection; even promising to name names if he could enter the Witness Protection Program. Rick had found him before he'd had a chance to sit down for a face-to-face with any of the detectives. This was not an interrogation, this was retribution and Jackson was only here to supervise his new trainee, like he had said before, the young man was going to do just fine.

Rick looked over at Jackson, awaiting instruction.

"Do the knees," Jackson ordered, stepping into the light, "But cover his mouth first. You can hear the screams from a block away."

"Crane, is that you?" Marcus asked, almost seeming relieved. "Crane, I can't believe you're here. Don't you remember me, I helped you out. You owe me."

"How's that?" Jackson asked.

"That nurse, the one who was going to rat you out. I got rid of her for you, just like you wanted. You were there, Crane. Please tell me you remember."

_My, my, my…it's small world…_

"No, I don't remember, Marcus, because I'm not Crane. He's dead and I know, because I saw his body lying cold on the floor, just before I set it on fire," Jackson said, while he stuffed a gag into the poor bastard's mouth. He looked over at Rick and snapped his fingers. "Do it."

"With pleasure," Rick said.

Marcus began to thrash about and Jackson had to hold the chair down to thwart the man's attempts to stand. When the drill pierced his kneecap, he threw his head back and screamed into his gag.

A clattering sound from the alley caught Jackson's attention and when he turned around, his jaw dropped. He saw Ava, who had most likely tripped on a hub cap or some other piece of debris that littered these back streets, backing away from the window, still in a semi-crouching position. For a moment, Marcus's sobs were the only sound that could be heard, and then Rick raised his gun to her.

"No!" Jackson yelled and pulled the man's arm down before he could fire a shot. "I'll go after her."

"The Falcone's said no witnesses."

"She's not a witness; she's my niece. She's just a little out of sorts; that's all. Finish up here…I'll take care of her."

He ran out the door and turned the corner, expecting her to be further down the street than she was. She wasn't even running and he caught up to her easily. If she had screamed at him, called him a killer, he would have expected it. If she had slapped him or spit in his face, he wouldn't have been shocked, but she just turned to him slowly when he grabbed her by the shoulder.

There were tears in her forlorn eyes as she looked at him and said softly, "You killed my dad."

"No, _I _didn't."

"Oh, I get it; you had one of your lackeys do it. I guess you didn't hurt the guy in the warehouse either?" she said, her despondent mood melted away and she looked into his eyes, utterly appalled by what she saw.

"Listen to me, Angel. That man in there is no saint. He's getting what he deserves, your father…"

"My father what, got what he deserved?"

Jackson held his tongue, unsure of what to say next. He recalled something his father used to say to him when he was just a boy, _"Son, when you're in a whole, stop digging."_

"You're a murderer!" Ava screamed when he didn't answer, and he found himself covering her mouth and pulling her off the sidewalk.

"Let go of me," she demanded. "You lied to me, you lied to mom."

"I never wanted to lie to you. It wasn't my idea. We only had your best interests at heart."

"What do you mean, we? Does mom know about this?"

"Angel, your mother loves you; she was just trying to protect you."

"Oh my god," Ava said, covering her ears with her hands.

"Angel…" he began to say as he touched her arm.

"Don't touch me, just stay away. You're a monster. I can't believe you lied to me. My own mother…" the words caught in her throat. She turned from Jackson and ran down the street, heading in the direction of her home.

Jackson stood on the corner watching her; effectively walking in circles as he debated whether or not to go back to the warehouse and finish the job, or chase after Ava.

Five minutes passed before he began his pursuit. Ava needed a chance to cool down, that was true, but Vanessa needed warning that after all these years, the shit had finally hit the fan.

**Author's Note: The truth is coming out, it always does. In the next chapter, things are really going to blow up….literally.**

**How did you all like super protective, take charge Jackson? If it weren't for torture people with power drills and kill them for money Jackson, he'd be the perfect man. Swoon.**

**I also think it's obvious that Bruce and Jackson don't really care much for each other! We'll get into that a little bit more in the coming chapters as well.**

**Thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review my story. I appreciate all of your support and kind words.**

**Thanks again to emptyvoices; the best sounding board ever!**


	4. Chapter 3

_Ava heard a woman giggling in the hallway and crinkled her nose when she saw Uncle Jack and an unknown, dark haired woman locking lips, in a rather heated public display of affection._

"_Will I see you tomorrow?" the woman asked as she turned to leave._

"_**Oh my god, that lady looks just like mom,"** Ava thought. **"Well, if mom liked to dress like a tramp and hang all over Uncle Jack, that is."**_

"_Eight o'clock," Uncle Jack told her._

"_Hi darling," the mystery woman said. "It's nice to finally meet you. Your…**uncle,** talks about you all the time. I'm sorry," she said, turning towards Uncle Jack, "It's still so hard to think of you as an uncle," and she almost started laughing._

_Ava's brow furrowed and she looked at Uncle Jack in confusion. He didn't respond to this woman's comment but Ava could see his jaw was clenched and she knew from experience that he only did that when he was about to lose his temper. Whatever was going on between him and this woman, he did not seem to enjoy being teased._

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the woman said, throwing her arms up in mock surrender. "I'll see you tomorrow at eight, **Uncle Jack**."_

_As the still unnamed woman brushed past her, she reached out and touched Ava's shoulder, "Take care, Angel."_

"_You too, ma'am," Ava said with a polite smile which quickly turned to a frown when she focused her attention back to her uncle. "Who the heck was she?"_

"_She's a coworker."_

"_That woman sells computer software?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_Not exactly; is she part of your employee benefit package then?" Ava asked._

_Again, she got no response, just that clenching jaw. "Nice mood you're in today, Uncle Jack," she quipped._

"_Ava, are you here for a reason?" he asked. "I don't think you would have stopped by my place unannounced if you didn't have something on your mind."_

_He leaned against the wall beside his front door and motioned her inside. Those flashes of anger she had seen earlier had all but disappeared. "I heard a rumor," he continued as he followed her into his apartment and shut the door behind him. "I heard that you've been getting into fights at school and that your mother had to meet with the principal about it."_

_Ava looked away from him and glanced out the window, his breathtaking view almost made her forget that this city was a dump. _

"_Do you want to talk about it?" he pressed._

"_It's true, she met with them and **nothing** came of it. Nobody even bothered asking for my side of the story."_

"_I'll ask; what's your side of the story?"_

"_They've been saying things about mom…" Ava blurted out and then paused, hoping that a delay would make what she was about to say easier. "Uncle Jack, I know what happened to her. I know why she had to go to Arkham. But the kids at school, they said that what dad did to her while she was there was even worse. They said she got pregnant with me because dad…It can't be true."_

"_Don't listen to those kids, Ava; they're only saying those things to hurt your feelings."_

'_What was he like, Uncle Jack?" she asked suddenly._

_Now it was Uncle Jacks turn to pause and the fact that everyone got so uncomfortable when she mentioned her father left her with more questions than answers._

"_Well, first and foremost, he was devastatingly handsome," Uncle Jack laughed, eliciting a groan from Ava. "He was a brilliant man, no one can deny that, and he had strong feelings for your mother, feelings I'm sure even he didn't understand. But he was also arrogant and that arrogance got the better for him. I'll tell you one thing though, no matter what he may or may not have done, you don't deserve to pay the price for his misdeeds."_

_**What kind of an ambiguous answer is that?**_

_Ava was getting tired of feeling confused and uncertain all the time. She rubbed her eyes, trying to conceal her tears as she dealt with the frustration of waiting for answers that never seemed to come._

"_Why can't we live with you, Uncle Jack?" she asked for the one hundredth time._

"_Ava," he said. "Your mother and I don't…"_

"_I know, I know, you don't have **those** kinds of feelings for each other. I'm not asking for the two of you to fall in love. We can just live together, and then I could go to a different school."_

"_That would be running away, Angel. You've got to stand up for yourself," he answered firmly._

"_Mom doesn't want me to fight back. Whenever I do, I get the same 'violence begets violence' lecture."_

"_I hate to say it; but your mom is wrong on this one, Angel."_

"_Did I hear that correctly? Did you just say mom was wrong?" Ava asked, dumbfounded._

"_Come on, let's get started," he said while he motioned her into the spacious living room._

"_Started on what?"_

"_Well, if you're going to stand up for yourself, I'm going to show you how to do it properly," and then he winked at her. "Repeat after me: I am not going to take any shit."_

"_I am **not** going to take any shit!"_

"_That's my girl. Listen, Angel, don't tell your mother I'm teaching you martial arts…and don't tell her I let you swear either; you know how she gets."_

"_I won't tell," Ava promised and flashed a genuine smile for the first time in months._

Ava ran down the street at full speed, filled with so many conflicting emotions, it was hard to even think straight. At one point, she had thought about calling the police. Uncle Jack was a murderer and deserved to be in jail, but something inside of her just couldn't do it, couldn't turn him in.

The closer she got to home, the more emotional she became and when she walked through the front door, so many questions plagued her mind that she felt overloaded and could scarcely feel anything at all.

Her mother was in her face in an instant. "You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady," she yelled. Ava looked into her eyes for just a moment and felt her resolve start to slip.

"I have a lot of explaining to do? That's great mom, that's just rich! I'm not the one who's been lying every single day for the past fifteen years."

"What?"

"You heard me. Uncle Jack sure is a great salesman; he drives a real hard bargain. In fact, he drives it right through your fucking kneecap if you dare to say no to him. But you knew about all that already, didn't you?"

"What did he tell you?' her mother asked, her voice filled with a strange mix of apprehension and fury.

"He didn't have to tell me anything; he showed me. I got to see him on the job."

Ava watched as her mother gasped, then covered her mouth with her hands in a belated effort to hide her shock.

"I went to talk with him after school today, mom. He's always _so_ understanding when I tell him about my fights; but instead of meeting him at this apartment, I ended up following him to an old warehouse on 5th street. I got to see him in action and he let a lot of your well kept secrets escape when he didn't know I was around."

"Oh god, please, no," her mother sobbed.

"He said _we_ only lied to protect you. Did you hear that mom; _we_? I'm guessing he's referring to you and him."

"Ava, you don't understand."

"You knew about all of this, didn't you? You knew he was involved in my father's murder, his own _brother_, and you gave him a key to our house. My god, he's walked me home from school, he's slept on our couch and the two of you apparently sat down together to plan out the lies that my life would be based upon. How could you do that?"

"Ava, he and your father, they're not….."

"They're not what?" Ava interrupted.

"They're not brothers. They're not even related."

"So now you decide to start telling the truth? You're fifteen years too late, mom," Ava said as she pushed her mother aside and walked down the hall towards her bedroom.

"Ava, please," her mother begged.

"Is there something else you feel like sharing, mommy dearest? How about telling me who killed dad? Jack swore he didn't do it personally, but I bet you both know who did."

"No, I can't tell you that," her mother sobbed.

"He's my father. I have a right to know."

"I can't tell you that," her mother said with a pained expression on her face. She reached out and tried to take Ava's hand.

"Don't you touch me; you're a god damn liar. I hate you. I hate you!"

She slammed the door in her mothers face and threw herself onto the bed. In that moment, she had hated her mother so much, she wished she were dead, but that feeling didn't last; it couldn't last. The rage she had worked so hard to maintain, crumbled as she listened to her mother's endless tears and heard her fall to the ground, just outside her door. Ava stood up and walked to the door. Her hand rested on the knob, but she couldn't bring herself to open it and it was her mother who broke the silence.

"I'm so sorry for what I did. I love you, Munchkin. You mean _everything_ to me. Please, please don't shut me out."

If her mother had lied to her all these years, did that mean the stories her cold hearted classmates had told her, were true? Her heart broke to think that her mother could have suffered as much as people had said. Unable to stand it any longer, Ava opened the door. Her mother was right there, still on her knees, overcome with her grief. She almost fell over in her surprise, but managed to stand and wipe the tears from her face. The effort proved futile, as they were quickly replaced with a fresh batch.

The two women faced each other and Ava could see the remorse in her eyes.

She was about to tell her mom that she loved her too, when she was blinded by a flash of light and her mother's body was propelled forward with such force that they both crashed to the floor, quickly buried in the ashes of what had once been their living room.

Ava lay there for a moment, dazed and unable to hear anything except a loud ringing in her ears. Slowly, the sound of police sirens filtered in and she became aware of the weight of her mother's body upon her.

"Mom…..Mommy!" Ava cried to no avail.

Her vision began to clear and Ava was able to distinguish the silhouettes of two men standing above her. She was overjoyed, unable to believe that help had arrived so quickly.

"Please, help my mother," Ava pleaded.

Without a word, her mother was lifted off of her and the second man raised her off the ground and slung her roughly over his shoulder.

"She'll get the proper medical attention, don't worry," a muffled male voice said.

All she could see was the sidewalk; it was bouncing up and down in her field of vision as the man ran down the street. Where was the ambulance? Shouldn't she be on a stretcher?

_Wait, something's not right…_

"Put me down," she demanded just before being dumped unceremoniously into the trunk of a car, catching one last glimpse of daylight and a man in a black ski mask, before the lid was slammed shut.

As she felt the car peel out and speed down the road, Ava realized she was alone. She had no idea where her mother was or if she were even alive. Her hands felt around blindly, trying to find some means of escape. Something dug into her hip and she rolled onto her back, feeling a glimmer of hope when she realized the source of her pain was her cell phone.

_I'll call the police; there must be some way for them to pinpoint my location._

Ava flipped the phone open and was disheartened when she saw the 'low battery' indicator flashing.

"_Just one call,"_ she thought and actually jumped, letting out a single cry of alarm when the phone rang unexpectedly in her hand.

"Ava," the voice of the man who she had once believed was her uncle yelled.

"Please, help us," she pleaded.

"It's okay, Angel. I'm not going to lose…."

His voice cut out as the phone went dead and Ava was once again left alone in the dark with nothing but the roar of a car engine to keep her company.

_I don't care if you're my uncle or not, just find us, Jack_

**Author's Note: Thanks again to emptyvoices for her help and as always, thanks to everyone who has read and/or reviewed. I really appreciate it.**


	5. Chapter 4

_Jackson's hand rested on top of hers as silence continued to fill the room._

"_Are you hung up on me?" he asked again._

"_No," she responded._

"_Would you mind looking me in the eye while you say that, Sweetheart?"_

_Vanessa turned to him, slipping her hand out from beneath his, a pensive look upon her face. Not for the first time, he found it next to impossible to take his eyes off of her._

"_**Maybe it's a trick of the light?"** he thought when their eyes met._

_Jackson found it strangely amusing; the first time he'd met her, he had thought of her as plain. Somehow, over the course of these rather tumultuous years, she had transformed into the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, even if she **was **currently wearing a tattered pink nightgown, reminiscent of the ones his grandmother used to wear, and matching slippers._

"_No," she repeated._

_It was an outright lie if he had ever heard one. Summoning all his charm, he met her gaze and asked, "Not even a little bit?"_

_His reward was an awkward smile she tried her best to hide from him; the corners of her mouth, which were now upturned, ever so slightly, gave her away._

_Jackson was not a man to beat around the bush and she had just given him all the prompting he needed. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. _

_It was the perfect kiss, at least he thought so – one that captured the depths of the feelings he had for her but was tempered with the need to be gentle. Vanessa was unlike the women he usually associated with. She could not and would not be manhandled._

_Stopping for a moment, he stepped back and tried to gauge her reaction. She was staring at him, looking rather dumbstruck, almost as if she'd never been kissed before but that faint smile had never left her face._

_He reached out and took her hand, gently pulling her along as they walked through the kitchen, past the living room and into her bedroom. Vanessa stood in the center of the room like a living statue as he shut the door behind them and pulled the drapes. The sun had already risen and the sound of commuter traffic penetrated the room, but in the shadows, they were afforded some privacy_

_She watched his fingers as he unbuttoned her nightgown and slipped it over her shoulders. He helped it along its way, kissing her neck, chest and stomach as he did so until he found himself kneeling in front of her – her nightgown having fallen around her ankles. Even in the dim light, he could see the scar by her navel and he traced it with his thumb, stopping when he heard her sharp intake of breath. His lips brushed against that tender flesh only for an instant before she pulled away from him and disappeared under the covers of her bed, hiding herself just as quickly as she'd been revealed._

"_**Is she ashamed of those scars**?" he wondered while he undressed. If so, she needn't be. What had happened had been beyond her control; there was no shame in it, but how to convey his feelings about the matter eloquently? Subject matter like this was not his forte and he found himself searching for words that would not come._

_When he pulled back the covers one by one she clutched the last sheet, trying to keep herself hidden. Jackson was not about to rip the cover from her hands, instead, he slid underneath and lay down beside her._

"_Vanessa, you don't need to hide from me," he reassured her. "I think you're beautiful."_

_Her grip on the sheet slackened and ultimately she let go, allowing him to move closer. Settling his weight on top of her, he noticed that she was still looking off to the side rather than at him, just as she had been since the moment she had retreated to the safety of her bed. Jackson cupped the side of her face and forced her to look at him._

"_Are you okay?" he asked._

_Her body was rigid underneath him, her legs held together in a vice like grip. She felt more like a surf board than the woman he was about to make love to and he was having flashbacks to their first night together in that now burned out trailer. She had been his prisoner, handcuffed to his bed to prevent any escape attempts and her reaction to him then was much that same as it was now._

"_I don't know," she answered, after giving the question some thought._

_**It's not supposed to be this way…**_

"_Trust me, Vanessa. You're safe. They're gone now," Jackson said and she looked at him, unsure of what he meant. "Crane, the man I was when we first met; they're gone. I'll leave the decision in your hands. If you want me to stop, just say so."_

"_No, you don't have to stop," she answered and this time he knew it wasn't a lie._

_Her body relaxed underneath him and their lips met again as he wrapped his arms around her._

"_I'll always be here for you, Vanessa," Jackson continued. "I'll protect you, cherish you…love you."_

_Love, the moment that word had left his mouth, he wondered if it was true. Was a man like him even capable of such an emotion? Still, he **wanted** to love her; wasn't that enough?_

_He didn't have to wonder. Vanessa knew him; she knew what he was capable of and with that understanding she had still run her hand through his hair, allowing a solitary finger to trace along the ridge of his ear._

"_I trust you, Jackson," she whispered._

_Pressing his forehead to hers, savoring the feeling of her ever quickening breath as they moved to the slow and gentle rhythm she had set, he felt something akin to honor knowing that after all this time, he had been the one to show her that sex would no longer be associated with violence. It was the purest form of expression between the two of them, cementing their relationship and further strengthening the bond they had shared, almost from the moment they had met._

_It had been perfect and as they lay together afterwards, she with her arms around him, her head resting on his chest and he, relishing the feeling of her soft black hair as it slipped between his fingers, she had told him that she loved him._

_They were words he had never expected to hear again, not in this lifetime. Did she understand the effect those words had had on him? Probably not…_

_Yes, in that moment, life was perfect. Little did they know that in ten minutes, she would ask him a seemingly harmless question and their newly formed union would be torn apart._

Was it fate that had kept him rapt with indecision for exactly five minutes? If he had arrived at Vanessa's building one minute earlier, he would have been caught in the explosion just like all the other poor saps that currently lay sprawled across the sidewalk, covered in broken glass. One minute later and he would not have seen Ava being thrown into the trunk of a green Buick Regal moments before it sped off, and the only two people on the face of the earth that he actually gave a damn about would have been lost to him forever.

The scene was utter chaos; people were screaming, some were crying, others were calling out the names of their loved ones. The sound of police and fire engines grew louder as they approached and in the distance, Jackson could see those two green cars stuck in traffic but ramming their way through any and all obstacles.

But fate _was_ on his side today and in his panic, Jackson ran up to the first person he saw – a middle aged man, shouting into his cell phone as he leaned against his car- and grabbed him by the collar.

"Give me your keys!" Jackson ordered.

"What? Get the hell off of me, you freak."

"I said, give me your keys!"

"You're crazy. I…" the man stopped short when Jackson pulled a gun and jammed it against his temple. Rather than finish his sentence, the man wisely handed over his keys.

Just as Jackson started the car, another series of explosions went off. How many, he couldn't say; he stopped counting at five, when a well timed blast went off right in front of him. The front windshield exploded and he was covered not only with safety glass, but the glass from the store front he'd been parked in front of. He shielded himself with his hands a moment too late and a piece of that glass hit his face. He could feel the blood running down his cheek even before he saw the stain on his sleeve. For a moment, he was distracted by the realization that he'd almost lost his eye.

_Almost, but didn't...keep moving._

There was no time to worry about his injuries now. Jackson recognized these additional explosions for what they were; diversions. People had seen these men brazenly carry two women from their apartment and force them into their vehicles, they had taken down license plate numbers and had probably called the police by now, but none of it mattered. By the time the cops sorted this whole mess out, Vanessa and Ava would be gone.

Jackson peeled out and began his chase, weaving in and out of traffic, dodging cars and pedestrians alike. Stop signs and traffic lights became irrelevant as he made up for lost time.

There they were; two green Buick Regals, tearing down the crowded streets, one behind the other and looking as conspicuous as he did with his front windshield gone, they quickly noticed his as well. They moved beside one another and to Jackson's horror, turned in opposite directions when they reached the next intersection.

He didn't know which way to turn. Following one car would mean losing the other but then it occurred to him; he hadn't actually seen Vanessa during this melee. For all he knew, she could have been killed in the explosion or left behind all together. Perhaps Ava was the primary target? Why; he couldn't say.

Jackson knew that Ava's phone was dead, so he tried dialing Vanessa's number. He waited impatiently as it rang over and over.

"_Please pick up, Vanessa. Tell me if you're in one of these cars."_

Her voicemail picked up and in his frustration, he threw the phone into the passenger seat and slammed his fists against the steering wheel. He had nothing to go on but he did know that no matter the circumstances, Vanessa would have wanted him to protect her daughter.

"_Why am I thinking about her in the past tense already?"_

Putting his personal feelings aside and doing his best to honor Vanessa's wishes, he went with his gut and turned right.

Jackson caught up to the other car in short order but kept his distance. The last thing he wanted to do was ram it from behind, both cars were carrying precious cargo. If he were going to force this vehicle off the road, he would have to do it carefully.

Before he had time to formulate a plan, something slammed into the back of his car and he was thankful that this car either didn't have an airbag or it had failed to deploy. His head jerked forward when he was hit a second time, but he refused to give up the chase.

He gave a quick look into the side view mirror, already knowing that the second Regal would be behind him and sure enough, it was.

The car had been riding his bumper, but dropped back. Jackson heard the sound of gun shots in rapid succession and he knew the chase was over.

His two back tires blew out and when he was rammed from behind a third time, he went into an uncontrollable spin. When he finally came to a stop in the middle of the street, he caught one last glimpse of both cars before they turned another corner and disappeared from sight.

Jackson's head drooped forward and he let it rest upon the steering wheel. Everything seemed so quiet now, he nearly jumped a foot when his cell phone rang, snapping him back into reality.

"Vanessa? Ava?"

"What the hell is going on down there? It sounds like World War 3?' he heard Rick ask.

"Someone's taken Vanessa and my niece. I lost them."

"Then you need to get back here right away. Marcus has been singing like a canary and he's looking to make a deal. He says he has information you need to hear."

**Author's Note: Okay, the whole romance thing…I had to do it, had to! First; I've never written anything even slightly romantic and wanted to see if I could pull it off. Hopefully, I have. Second, after all the horrible things I've put Vanessa through, I felt I owed her a little bit of happiness in her life, even if it's only for a short while. (Ten minutes, or so)**

**Thanks again to emptyvoices for being my sounding board and everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review. **


	6. Chapter 5

_Ava left Uncle Jack's apartment with a few new tricks up her sleeve and the knowledge that she was going to be late for dinner for the third time this week. Her mother didn't mind that she sometimes went to see Uncle Jack after school, but she had this obsession with eating dinner together as a family and there would be hell to pay if she was late again._

"_She's going to kill me," Ava muttered._

_As she stood on the corner of East and Chapel waiting to cross, she looked down the street into the alley and then looked back at her watch. It was 5:49 – she needed to be home by six. The alley was not well lit, but it was a shortcut. Despite her better judgment, Ava stepped onto that darkened path, running as fast as she could in a skirt and flip flops._

"_**Wear pants next time, Angel; I can't have you throwing kicks in a skirt,"** Uncle Jack had said before she left his apartment not ten minutes ago._

_Her intuition told her this was not a good idea and intuition proved right when a man almost twice her size stepped into her path, no more than twenty feet away from her._

_**Oh shit…**_

_Ava turned and ran in the opposite direction, stopping abruptly when a second man blocked that egress, leaving her trapped._

"_What are you doing down here, little girl? Are you lost?" he asked._

"_**Ignore them,"** she thought. **"Just ignore them, don't make eye contact and walk right on by."**_

_Ava pushed by the second man and kept her vision focused on East Street and the people- **the help **-that awaited her. To her relief, he didn't stop her, not until she walked past and he stuck his foot out, tripping her. She fell to the ground face first, skinning her elbows and her knees. When she rolled over and looked up, the two men were standing over her. The larger of the two reached for her and she lashed out at him, grabbing his outstretched hand and sinking her teeth into the tender pad of flesh between his thumb and index finger._

_He released her and doubled over, screaming obscenities and gripping his hand. Ava scrambled to her feet and took off down the alley with the second man hot on her heels. Standing almost six inches taller than her, his long legs caught up to her before she had gone ten paces. He pushed her against the wall; one hand covered her mouth and stifled her cries for help while the other pulled at her skirt._

"_Bring her back here," the other man called from behind a dumpster. "No one will see a thing."_

_Ava felt her feet leave the ground as she was lifted up and carried out of sight. Even if someone who actually gave a damn happened to look this way, they would not have seen the goings on. The situation was desperate to say the least. _

_She was forced onto the pavement face down again, and straddled by a man who ripped her backpack from her shoulders. The contents spilled onto the ground and she found herself face to face with her cell phone. Ava reached out and hit the send button, hoping that neither of the men had noticed. The phone redialed the number of the last person she had spoken to and Ava could only hope that Uncle Jack was still home to take the call._

_After three rings, he picked up, "Hello?" she heard him ask faintly._

"_I'm in the alley by East and Chapel, East and Chapel!" she screamed before a size ten, steel toed boot crushed her phone._

_The hand that had left her mouth for just a moment, resumed its place and she closed her eyes when he settled his full body weight on top of her, pushing her further into the pavement._

"_You have a big mouth for such a little girl. What are you, about 13-14 years old?" a hateful voice whispered into her ear._

"_Do you think she's a virgin?" the other man asked._

"_Not for much longer."_

_**I just want to go home…**_

_It seemed silly, but all she could think about at this moment was her mother and how this would affect her. She would be devastated that her and her daughter had shared the same fate. Uncle Jack was coming, she was certain of that but as she felt this man fumble with his belt while he whispered some of the most perverse words she had ever heard, Ava knew that he would arrive too late._

_She kept her eyes shut tight and prayed for a miracle and to her amazement, her prayers were answered._

_It came in the form of a peculiar popping sound, like nothing she had ever heard before, and the man who had smashed her phone, fell to the ground beside her. The second man who had been all too eager to assault her, jumped to his feet and backed toward the wall; still, Ava did not dare look up._

"_How dare you touch her?" Ava heard an unfamiliar male voice ask._

"_Just calm down, I barely laid a hand on her. No harm, no foul, okay?" her attacker said before she heard another popping sound. A second body hit the ground and then there was nothing but silence._

_The mystery man, her savior, grasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet._

"_It's okay, you're safe now, Ava. I'd never let anything happen to you."_

_Ava attempted to turn around. She didn't know this voice or the man it belonged to, but he seemed to know her. He wouldn't allow her to see him however, and pushed her against the dumpster. It was not a threatening gesture by any means but somehow she knew it was in her best interests not to force the issue._

"_It's better that you not see me, Ava. Now is not the right time," he explained._

"_Who are you?" she asked._

"_Someone who wants to protect you," he answered while he brushed the dirt off her shoulders. "Someone who had better not discover that you've been walking down dark alleys such as this one ever again; do you understand me?"_

"_Yes….sir," Ava answered, not knowing how else to address him._

"_Good girl. Now hurry home. You're mother is probably worried sick about you."_

_Without looking at him, she stepped out from behind the dumpster, bumps, bruises and all and started walking towards East Street. Her mother would think she'd gotten into another fight and that was fine. The truth would be too difficult to explain._

_When she stepped into the sunlight and its welcoming heat, she turned to her left and saw Uncle Jack running towards her at break neck speed. She decided to chance one look over her shoulder into the alley…it was deserted._

_The man who had saved her from a fate worse than death had disappeared._

Ava awoke to the sound of screams. She couldn't remember if her abductors had drugged her or if she had passed out while in transit; all she knew was that it had been a dark and bumpy ride and lying on the tile floor made her realize how much her entire body ached.

She was still having difficulty relating to her surroundings but she could tell she was alone in this room. The screams were coming from the room next to hers and she approached the wall, pressing her ear against it and trying to listen.

It didn't take her long to recognize the terrified voice as her mother's. She was begging, pleading with someone briefly and then she began to scream again. Ava was paralyzed. She sunk to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself, unable to do anything else.

As gut wrenching as it was to listen to those screams, it was worse when they stopped. Ava rocked back and forth, telling herself repeatedly that the cries had been a figment of her imagination.

_Where am I?_

It appeared as though she were in someone's office, complete with a desk, roll out chair and computer monitor; the computer's hard drive was nowhere to be found – the phone was absent as well.

There were no windows in this room. The only light came from a single fluorescent bulb, the only one in the room that hadn't burned out. Making her way to the door, she was surprised when she turned the knob and found it wasn't locked.

Ava stepped into the hallway and saw it was much the same as the room she'd just left. A single light illuminated the corridor, she could see twenty feet in either direction before everything was enveloped in darkness, but she knew the hall extended much further than that.

From the room next to her, she heard a group of men talking and suddenly the door opened and two people emerged. They noticed her right away but made no effort to apprehend of subdue her. Instead, they pointed at the room they'd just left and one of them said, "He's been waiting for you to wake up. Go on, your mom is in there too."

Ava felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. The time for denial was over. Whatever was happening to her and her mother was real.

Those were the only words they said. After that, they didn't acknowledge her any further and continued down the hall, uncaring of the darkness it contained. In fact, they were jovial, joking with one another and trading compliments on a job well done.

Ava stood in the hallway until the men's footsteps faded away and she was sure she was alone again. Only then, did she step into the room. But it wasn't a room per se. Once she closed the door behind her, she found herself in a small entry way. She could see a door directly in front of her and one at either side.

Opening the door to her left, she found an unoccupied room similar to the one she had woken up in. The door in front of her yielded many more curiosities; the room she entered was reminiscent of the chemistry lab at her high school with its black topped desks and glass front cabinets, some of which were stocked with various chemicals, some whose names she recognized, other's she did not There were a dozen black vests lying on a chair beside the table and Ava looked at them in bewilderment. They seemed out of place and she could only guess at their significance, but in spite of her findings, this room was also unoccupied and she still had not found her mother. She backed out of that room and opened the door to her right.

The decorations were sparse; a table and chair at one side of the room and at the other, hidden behind a partition with its wheels peaking out from beneath, was what appeared to be a hospital bed.

"Mom?" she called out and spun around in terror when she thought she heard shuffling behind her. Something begged her closer to those curtains and she approached them with trepidation.

"Mom?" she said again as she pushed the curtain to the side. To her horror, lying there on the hospital bed, hooked up to every piece of life support equipment Ava could imagine, was her mother; bones set, wounds bandaged. She reached out to her mother, shaking her gently and trying to rouse her, Ava _willed_ her to come around, but she remained in bed, unmoving…comatose.

"Please mom, please wake up. Don't leave me here alone," she said and after all that had happened today, after all she had been through, she finally began to cry.

"You're not alone, Ava."

Ava turned around; she knew this voice, had heard it once before. Now she found herself face-to-face with a man that shouldn't be there. He was looking her up and down, studying her with unconcealed interest and she felt as though she were looking in a mirror. His eyes, his lips, she shared those traits with him, but why wouldn't she? She was looking at her father.

"Daddy?" she asked.

"Yes, Ava, we're together now, the three of us. One big, happy family."

**Author's Note: As always, thank you for taking the time to read and/or review and thanks to emptyvoices for being my sounding board.**


	7. Chapter 6

_6:30 a.m._

_Thirty minutes had passed since they had traded the kitchen for the bedroom and Jackson allowed his fingers to trace mischievously down her arm._

"_What time does Ava usually wake up?" he asked._

"_We have another half hour, tops. She's not a late sleeper," Vanessa answered._

_He rolled on top of her and pulled the sheet away in one fell swoop. "Plenty of time," he whispered in her ear before propping himself up to get a better look at her. His gaze was unwavering, taking in every last inch of her. She felt uncomfortable in the face of his scrutiny, he could sense as much, but that bond, that underlying trust they shared was as strong, if not stronger than ever. Finally, a smile returned to her face as she realized that to him, she was beautiful and the only thing he wouldn't let her do, was hide._

_Seeing her relax, he allowed his hand to travel along her body, coming to rest on her inner right thigh. Jackson could feel the raised skin; those hateful scars and for a moment, he imagined them as marks on a chalkboard, something that could be wiped away. But if he could do that, if he could change events and spare her that pain, then they never would have met. Was it wrong, that if given the opportunity, he wouldn't change a thing?_

"_Well?" she asked, wondering why a man who was known for taking action was suddenly frozen – wrapped up in his own thoughts._

"_After she wakes up, the two of you are moving in with me…today," he decided._

"_We are, huh?"_

"_Yes, this place is a dump..."_

"_Hey, I like my place," she said defensively._

"_Don't take it personal, Vanessa. I'm not attacking your skills as an interior decorator, but the place **is** a dump. This neighborhood isn't safe. I don't like you living this way and there's no reason why you shouldn't be with me."_

"_What about Jessica's House? I like being close by."_

"_You'll have a car. It's a five minute walk from this place, a five minute drive from mine; there's no difference," he said._

"_I'm going to have my own life, Jackson. Don't think for a second that I'll be a kept woman," she said, her eyes openly challenging him._

"_You know it won't be like that," he promised and wrapped her legs around his waist, savoring the feeling as he entered her for the second time. He crossed his fingers and hoped that her daughter would decide to sleep late, just this once, so that he might have the morning with Vanessa._

"_It's a convincing argument you're making, Mr. Rippner," she teased. "I think you may wear me down."_

"_Shh," he whispered. "Talking during sex is never a good thing, Sweetheart. We'll work all this out later."_

_His words of wisdom managed to elicit a giggle from Vanessa before she fell silent. The only other sounds her heard after that were her soft moans and the light squeaking of the bedsprings as their bodies pressed together. Not that he didn't enjoy the slow pace at which they'd first made love but this time, he decided on a faster rhythm; he felt she was ready for it and judging from her reactions, it would seem he was right._

"_Jackson," he heard her say and at first, he had thought she was just saying his name out loud, perhaps in ecstasy, but that wasn't it. Her tone was questioning, there was something on her mind._

"_What is it, Sweetheart?"_

"_When did you decide? What changed your mind?"_

"_What do you mean?" he asked._

"_What made you decide to leave the business after all these years? Did you do it for me? Was it for Ava?"_

"_Vanessa, I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't I tell you that talking during sex is a bad thing?"_

_He was so close to release. He didn't want to stop now, he couldn't, not even when he chanced a look at her face and saw that mortified expression._

"_Get off of me," she demanded._

"_We'll work all this out later, Vanessa. Don't make me stop during."_

"_Get off of me," she yelled and began to push against him._

_Reluctantly, he rolled off of her and was shocked when she pushed him off the bed._

"_You're not leaving the business?" she asked._

"_Of course not, what made you think I would?"_

"_You know how I feel about it. Why would you come here with this…proposal, if you hadn't put that despicable career behind you?"_

"_That despicable career pays for your daughters diapers. It keeps the two of you fed and clothed and it makes ends meet when that laughable wage Wayne pays you falls short," he contested._

"_I won't expose Ava to that kind of life, Jackson. I won't have that in my home."_

"_I took one hell of a pay cut going to work for the Falcone's, Vanessa. I did it so I could be close to you. That's all the changing I'm going to do; take it or leave it."_

_For the longest time, he waited and she said nothing. She just sat there and stared at the wall, wearing a solemn expression upon her face. A minute must have passed before he decided to approach her again, hoping they could pick up where they'd left off._

"_Come on, Sweetheart, let's not fight. We can work all this out," he said and gently kissed her lips._

"_I want you to leave," she said._

"_What?"_

"_You heard me; leave. I don't need your money, your gifts, any of it. I want you gone. I don't want to see you anymore."_

"_I'm getting sick and tired of these little episodes of yours. Stop being so damn emotional," he said._

"_I said I want you to leave. What part of that don't you understand?"_

_Jackson was filled with an overwhelming urge to slap her, slap her until she came to her senses but he didn't allow himself to act on that urge. _

"_Fine," he said as he gathered his clothing. "Fine, if you want to be self-righteous, go ahead. If you want to live in squalor, be my guest. Have a nice life, Vanessa."_

_She didn't say anything in response. As he zipped up his pants, his tirade continued, "And what about all this talk of love, Vanessa? What was that?"_

"_I meant it, I still mean it. That's why you need to go."_

"_Who needs this shit?" he muttered and when he finished dressing, he stormed out of her apartment, telling himself he was better off without all this aggravation and vowing never to return._

"_Is this what Lisa went through?"_ he wondered.

This is what it must have been like – the fear, being in a desperate situation where the lives of the ones you love most hang in the balance. He was experiencing it all first hand. If someone, some higher power, was trying to teach him a lesson that was fine. He could accept it. But why did Vanessa and Ava have to be part of that lesson?

_Because being involved with someone like you can only bring a person pain. You should have stayed out of her life._

Jackson left the stolen car idling in the middle of the street and ran back to the warehouse feeling thankful that Rick hadn't killed Marcus yet and praying that the poor sap wasn't jerking his chain. If he was….God help him.

"The second you left, he started rambling about getting out of the city and some guy looking for his wife and daughter. I thought he was loopy because of the blood lose, but he said the name, Vanessa. That's your girl, right?" Rick asked when Jackson returned.

"Yeah," Jackson said, feeling drained. He didn't have time or the inclination to explain the nature of their relationship to Rick, so he simply agreed with him.

"Then the bombs went off…"

"Is he dead?" Jackson interrupted, staring down at the man.

His wrists and ankles were still bound but for some reason unknown to Jackson, Rick had decided to lay him on the floor. All the color had gone out of him, leaving this once olive skinned man a ghostly shade of white.

"I don't think so. Once I heard the explosions, I stopped. I think he's just in shock. You know….from the pain."

Jackson knelt beside the man and felt for a pulse. It was weak but it was there; Marcus was still alive and Jackson tapped his shoulder, demanding he wake up.

To Jackson's relief, Marcus's eyes fluttered open.

"Tell me what you know. Who took them? Where are they?" Jackson asked.

"You have to let me go. Take me to a hospital first, then I'll tell you whatever you want to know," Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No way," Rick said.

"Then I've got nothing to say," Marcus told them.

"You've got nothing to say? You're a dead man, Marcus, there's no changing that. Tell me what you know and I promise I won't slaughter your family after I finish with you," Jackson said, exploding in a rage.

"You can't do that. That's against the code."

"What code? There's no fucking code, this is my life we're talking about here."

There was no time to play games. The situation called for desperate measures and Jackson found himself driven to a level of violence he hadn't reached in years. Not since he'd met _her_.

Heturned toward Rick and said,** "**Hold his arms down**," **and as always, Rick followed orders, pinning Marcus's arms above his head.

"Hold him tight, he's going to thrash," Jackson continued.

"No, what are you doing?" Marcus screamed.

"Your wife, your kids, your grandparents; they will all find out why people call me Jack the Ripper. I'll butcher them all, Marcus, but I'll start with you," he said, pulling out his trusty K-Bar and rolling up the legs of Marcus's pants. "But I won't shoot you, nothing that quick. I'll flay you alive."

Without another word Jackson cut into Marcus. Starting just below his already damaged knee, Jackson sawed downward, making his way towards the ankle, watching as the skin curled up like a ribbon while he carved Marcus up like a Thanksgiving turkey. All the while, his victims' shrieks grew to such intensity that at one point, Jackson thought about sending Rick out for earplugs before he continued and he thought it funny that given the sheer pandemonium outside, these bloodcurdling screams were going unnoticed.

"Holy shit, I finally get to see the master work. I should be taking notes," Rick cheered.

Having reached the ankle, Jackson tore at the strip of flesh and after some effort; it came away from Marcus's body, along with his sock. Jackson showed it to him, and then threw it across the floor. It landed in the corner with a wet thump and Jackson focused his attention on the other leg.

"Again?" Jackson asked.

"Sundown, Sundown," Marcus began screaming.

"Sundown; what the hell does that mean?

"That's all he ever said. He said I helped him once and he wanted to return the favor. He told me he was going to take his wife and daughter out of the city and I should do the same. Then he said, 'Sundown' and that's it. That's all, I swear to God."

"That's all you know?"

"Yes," Marcus panted.

"You're lucky. I believe you," Jackson said and he wiped his knife clean on Marcus's shirt before he stood up and turned to leave. "Kill him," he said to Rick.

"I told you everything!" Marcus cried.

"And for that, your family will be spared, just like I promised."

"What about me?"

"Sorry, no deal, Marcus," Jackson said.

"Why?" the soon-to-be dead man implored.

"Because you made me ask twice," Jackson said and promptly left the warehouse, leaving Marcus to his fate.

Could the man that Marcus mentioned, the one that was looking for his wife and daughter, be Crane? It couldn't be. If he were alive, he could not have stayed around the city for so long. Jackson would have found out about it, he would have _sensed_ it and if he had even the slightest inkling that Crane was lurking about, he would have hidden the two women away until he was certain that madman was gone.

Part of him wished Crane _were_ alive. His biggest regret was never having the chance to kill him personally, watching him die, feeling his pulse slow, staring into those eyes as the light went out of them.

"Sundown," Jackson mumbled, tearing himself away from his murderous daydreams. "A place called Sundown…out of the city. Damn it; why does that sound so familiar?"

The answer was right on the tip of his tongue, he could feel it. Jackson told himself to calm down and clear his mind if possible.

Maybe then the answers would come?

**Author's Note: Okay, I'm crossing the line with this chapter. I think this is far more graphic than I've ever been. I have this tendency to censor myself and that has to stop! I've decided to make this story very intense and very graphic, consider yourselves warned.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being my ever vigilante sounding board and Not Human for making what I am today (I haven't thanked you in a while!) **

**Thanks to all who read and/or review. I love you all.**


	8. Chapter 7

_Jonathan Crane was not a stupid man; he knew when to play dead and when he'd woken in that trailer, almost at the same time as Mr. Rippner, that's exactly what he had done._

_It had not been easy. He could feel the bullet that was lodged between his ribs with every shallow breath he took and when that imbecile had attempted to lift his body – it had taken all his strength to keep from crying out in pain. But as hard as it had been to keep his suffering and the fact that he still lived and breathed a secret, it had been even more difficult to stifle his laughter when he saw Mr. Rippner approach the window, look outside, and scratch against the pane like a forlorn puppy waiting anxiously for its master's return._

_**Pathetic…can't you spend more than ten minutes with a woman without falling in love?**_

_After that, events had begun to unfold rather quickly. Rippner left and when he returned a moment later, he began dousing the place in what Jonathan's nose told him was gasoline. The sound of a match head igniting came next and the photo of Vanessa slipped from his hand, pulled away by a strong gust of wind; the same wind that had masked his fragile groan when he had reached for that photo only to see it carried out of the room and into the hands of another man._

_Then he had been surrounded by flames and he kicked the comforter away just as it lit up like a roman candle. Already, he was beginning to cough. The smoke inside the trailer made it almost impossible for him to see out of the bedroom, let alone to the front door. Knowing that his only mode of egress was operated by a keypad, Jonathan could only pray that Rippner had left it open. _

_A lesser man would have broken down, would have curled up and waited to die. Jonathan had seen it happen many times. He had seen grown men, mostly his former patients, break down and cry in the face of adversity, but Jonathan was not a lesser man._

_So he had held his breath, put his head down and run, doing his best to remember the layout of the small house, and ignoring the pain in his side. When he entered the living room, he could see the front door lying open and the welcoming blue sky beyond. He breathed a sigh of relief. _

_The blaze was not as intense in this room, which made his escape even easier. Rippner must have used the bulk of the accelerant in the bedroom, not that it mattered, Jonathan already knew he was burning, though he was running on too much adrenaline to really **feel** the flames. He remained calm even as the fire climbed his legs, consuming his clothing as well as his skin. It was that composure that led him outside and onto the nearest patch of snow, smothering the fire. After laying there for a minute breathing in the fresh air and clearing his smoke filled lungs he had dared to look down_

_It was as he expected; second degree burns. It looked awful, the flesh, red and blotchy had already begun to blister and weep.The pain was excruciating.Still, it could have been worse. All things considered, he had been lucky._

_There he was lying in the snow, his upper body feeling cold, his legs feeling hot and a bullet nestled most uncomfortably in his side. Adding insult to injury, his car was missing. His lovely little Vanessa must have picked his pockets, taking his keys and the antidote. The only thing he still had on him was his cell phone. He removed it from his scorched pocket and was thankful it hadn't been destroyed by the flames; he could call for help and that's just what he would do, but first, he had to find a nice, quiet place where he could lay low and tend to his wounds. It would seem that given the circumstances, he would have to walk._

_Jonathan staggered down the road, maybe a quarter of a mile, until he reached another home. What a sight he must have been, a bloody man with burnt legs and tattered pants shuffling along the roadside on this beautiful afternoon, but there were no neighbors and there were no police. It would seem that Vanessa, in her infinite wisdom had decided not to alert the authorities. Jonathan knew her reasons. A vision came to him of Mr. Rippner driving to her home where she would be waiting for him with open arms, maybe even open legs and it filled him with rage. He used that rage to keep himself moving. The pain in his legs was beginning to set in and if he collapsed before making it to another home, he would certainly die out here. So he let images of Vanessa and her new lover occupy his mind. It didn't take a specialist in human behavior to spot the connection between the two of them; any fool could have seen it. Well, let the lovebirds enjoy each other…their new found bliss would not last long and revenge is a beautiful thing. Jonathan would wait._

_The dwelling he had stumbled upon was a small two story cabin. There were no cars parked in the driveway, a quick survey of the first floor told him that all the doors and windows were locked. The home was unoccupied and he was thankful for it. Since this was a typical vacation home, one without bars on the windows and motion detectors; breaking inside had been easy and after he had found blankets and a first aid kit, he had made his call. _

_Sitting there all that time had given him time to reflect or had he been fantasizing? He couldn't decide._

_He had been so close; hovering over her with the knife pressed against her eye, her begging had been like music to his ears. He would never cut her, not her face anyway, but she couldn't be sure of that and she had been terrified. She was about to break._

_The power he had felt, the anticipation, they served as aphrodisiacs and he was longing to have more than just his fingers inside of her. Then that fool had managed to overturn his chair and their session had been interrupted just as they were on the verge of a breakthrough. The moment was gone, it couldn't be recaptured – not after she'd been given hope and Jonathan had been forced to bestow his undivided attention upon Mr. Rippner…couldn't risk that one getting loose. With an explosive temper like that, the man was dangerous._

_Then another opportunity; Vanessa with her face buried in a mattress, she had been crying the name, Jackson. _

_This was a gift, a chance to break the two of them; he couldn't let the opportunity pass._

**_And those exquisite screams…_**

_Jonathan had been ready to take her, though he was a little uncomfortable playing the voyeurism angle. Truth be told, it wasn't his cup of tea but anything to prove a point and to see her die inside, to give up; that had become his life's mission._

_Two golden opportunities, two unbelievable respites; he had been defeated and that was a shame, but the cultured man, the man who thinks long term, trudges forward and waits for new opportunities to present themselves. _

_A man such as he, remains calm, he makes a plan and most importantly, he lives to fight another day._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Good things come to those who wait.

"And look where we are now," Jonathan said to his beloved Vanessa as he lifted her hand and touched it to his lips. "It was only a matter of time, nothing more."

He held onto that hand, gripped it tight and thought of himself as the ever vigilant husband, unwilling to the leave the bedside of his comatose wife. Up until now, he didn't realize what a devoted family man he actually was.

"The things I do for you," he mumbled.

But he couldn't leave her even if he'd wanted to, not until he was sure she would remain stable. Though slightly accelerated, her heart rate was within normal range again. She had been so upset when Ava had collapsed. Jonathan knew what she must be thinking but he'd had nothing to do with it, he hadn't touched her. If not for his quick reflexes, Ava would have fallen to the floor, most likely striking her head against the hard tile. Vanessa should be grateful to him for sparing their daughter such an injury. She was resting quietly now, lying on the couch in his office across the hall. He had covered her with a blanket so she wouldn't catch a chill, just as any doting father would. The startling events of the day proved too much for her to handle all at once; his little girl needed her rest.

"I realize you're terribly confused and I'm going to do my best to explain the situation to you in terms you can understand," he said, massaging her arm as he spoke, "You're in an induced paralytic coma, my love, which means that like it or not, you have to listen to me. I tried to explain all of this to you earlier but you just wouldn't stop screaming. I'm disappointed in you, really I am. With your daughter in earshot, I would have hoped for a little more stoicism."

Vanessa's heart rate soared again and Jonathan looked at the monitor and smiled. Some things never change and she still hadn't learned to value his constructive criticisms.

"I know you can hear me," he said and his thoughts couldn't help but drift back to the night when she had been unconscious in her bed, much as she was now and the sight of her, all beaten and bloody had proven too enticing to resist. She had been so helpless then and he had grown tired of waiting for her to wake up. He had opened her bathrobe and….

Jonathan forced himself to stay focused, wondering why he'd been so prone to daydream since that night in the trailer. She was with him now, dreams had become reality and the time for rumination had passed.

"But more importantly; I know you can feel me," he said as he slipped his hand under the blanket.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the door to his office, it was closed, everything was silent, Ava was still asleep. He kept half an eye on that door while his hand made its way up Vanessa's leg; pausing dramatically at her knee before inching higher.

"Do you think I'd do something inappropriate, Vanessa? With our little girl just across the hall, do you think I'd touch you?"

He imagined that she was awake and actively participating in the conversation. What would she have said?

"_Jonathan, please…"_ that's what she would have said. Vanessa would want this line of questioning to stop; she would have begged him to take his hands off of her.

But he could not be stopped, not anymore and his hand began to knead her thigh, moving higher with every stroke.

"You let Mr. Rippner touch you, didn't you?" he asked, feeling a slight tinge of jealously. "All I asked from you over these years was fidelity, Vanessa. I gave you mine. Tell me, when he put his hands on you, did you think of me? I'm willing to bet it was unavoidable and I think it's telling that you gave yourself to a man who could be my doppelganger. It must have been difficult to keep certain memories at bay. Maybe that's why you did it?"

He moved closer to her so that he might whisper in her ear, "So many memories, Vanessa; let me give you an example, the two of us together for the first time in my office, when you willingly stretched out naked across the floor and these lips kissed every inch of your body."

He looked at her face, she was so peaceful; one would never guess that her resting heart rate had just reached 130. Jonathan leaned closer to that face and its tantalizing serenity, kissing her forehead, her eyes, the tip of her nose and then her lips.

"And your first orgasm of the evening, one of many I might add, came at the tip of my tongue."

Before he could stop himself, he jumped away out of habit. Had she been awake, this is the point where she would have lashed out at him, tried to slap him or something even more extreme. She always was the feisty one, that's why he enjoyed her so much.

"I could take you now, you'd be no more dispassionate then the last time I had my way with you," he threatened. "But don't worry, Vanessa. I won't touch you, _not yet_, not with our impressionable teenage daughter around, but you're free to dream about it if you'd like."

He stood over her, taking delight in his victory. In a few short days, Gotham would be destroyed along with Mr. Rippner, the Bat-man….all of them. It would be his ultimate achievement and his greatest victory and as his employer had promised; to the victor go the spoils.

Jonathan had waited well over a decade for this day and it was everything he thought it would be and more. The look on her face when his associates had forced her onto the bed and he had emerged for the shadows with a syringe in hand; it was priceless and oh, how she had screamed for him. Before he even had a chance to explain the situation to her, Vanessa had offered herself to him in exchange for their daughter's release. It was all so noble. What a wonderful mother she was, so eager to make the ultimate sacrifice.

He'd never accept that offer, but the begging was nice and to hear her promise to do _anything_ he wanted, that had been even better. He had asked her if she would be his loyal servant and she had tearfully said she would. He had been tempted to take her up on it, but no, it was much better this way and when he told her as much, her screams had begun anew. Jonathan held fast to his original plan, he had remained unyielding and now he owned them both.

"Which brings me to my next topic," he said, running his fingers through Vanessa's hair. "Our child; she's such a beautiful young girl. Everyday, she looks more like her mother. The poor thing must be feeling so betrayed because of the lies you told. You've made my job easy, Vanessa. Such a delicate young thing; I look forward to shaping her mind and when I've done that, you'll be allowed to join us. With Ava at my side, I know you'll stay. For your sake, I hope it doesn't take too long, being entombed within your own body the way you are, I'm concerned you'll go mad."

"Mom! Daddy!" he heard Ava cry.

"Speak of the devil," Jonathan said and he composed himself, wiping away any remaining traces of the lust in his heart and donning his most convincing mask of fatherly concern. He loomed over Vanessa for a moment longer, "Until tonight, my love. Right now_, daddy_ has a show to do."

He had it all planned out; there was no doubt in his mind that Ava would come to understand his side of things. She was Vanessa's daughter but they had made this child _together_, and he knew they shared many of the same traits. All he had to do was awaken them

Vanessa had inadvertently made that possible. Ava had been deceived by those closest to her and she would want to trust her daddy. A little finesse on his part and her mind would be like putty in his hands.

If by some off chance, Ava refused to come around…well, there was always plan B.

**Author's Note: Well, this chapter certainly got long. I suppose that was necessary, I have a lot of explaining to do!**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being a sounding board and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	9. Chapter 8

_The last time he spoke to Vanessa he had been fed up with her emotional outbursts and had sworn that he was done with that little pain-in-the-ass forever._

_It had lasted all of two weeks. _

_After that, he'd begun watching her._

_Jackson was sitting in a rental car parked just a few spaces down from her apartment building. Vanessa, for her part, was at the convenience store across the street, wandering aimlessly through the isles with her little girl in tow._

_His eyes continued to watch her as she turned her back to him, not even aware that she was being watched and he had to bite his lip. Her black hair, the sway of her hips as she walked, he felt compelled to barge into that store, fling her over his shoulder and carry her back to his bedroom where he was certain they could work everything out._

_So engrossed in his little fantasy was he that he jumped when he heard someone rap against the glass of the driver's side window._

_Jackson looked over and groaned. "Here we go," he muttered before rolling the window down._

"_Please tell me you've been hired to do surveillance on her," Tom, his current partner asked._

"_You know I haven't."_

"_So watching your ex-girlfriend buy broccoli is a new recreational activity of yours?"_

"_I'm not watching her buy broccoli. I…I just like to make sure she gets home alright. Besides, she's not my ex-girlfriend."_

'_Which makes it even worse," Tom scolded. "Open up; I need to talk to you."_

_Jackson reached over and unlocked the passenger door. As Tom crossed in front of the car, Jackson's eyes fell on the set of glasses he'd left on the dashboard. He grabbed for them, hoping he could conceal them before Tom noticed their presence…it didn't work._

"_Are those what I think they are?" Tom asked when he entered the car._

_Jackson's silence told Tom everything he needed to know._

"_What the hell do you keep those around for?"_

"_They're a reminder to keep my emotions in check and not to get sloppy," Jackson answered._

"_Really, how's that working out for you…stalker?"_

_Had it been anyone else, Jackson would have told him to get out of the car, but this was Tom Moretti. He was forty-eight years old, which in this line of work, made him a relic and Jackson often delighted in calling him Methuselah. It was a well known fact that he was on the way out, meaning he'd either step aside or be forced out of business within the next year or two. One doesn't remain a personal bodyguard and hit man forever, not when the competition is half your age; Tom had never joined the hierarchy of the Falcone family, he'd never wanted to, but when you don't move up, eventually you move out. _

_Although Tom was not his subordinate, for all intents and purposes, Jackson **was** his boss, but this was not the usual Good Dog-Master relationship that he'd been accustomed to. Jackson may have been viewed by many as new blood, but the truth was Tom Moretti didn't take any shit and it was also true that Tom knew the Falcone family and the city of Gotham like the back of his hand. He was a valuable source of information for anyone who was willing to listen._

"_Come on, Rippner, this is beyond obsession," Tom continued, regarding him in his usual no-nonsense way._

_Jackson chose to ignore him again and allowed his fingers to drum incessantly against the steering wheel. He could feel Tom's eyes on him, he knew there was more the man wanted to say and nothing that could keep him from saying it._

"_What about that girl Olivia? The one I set you up with, how did that work out?" he finally asked._

"_Don't even bring that up," Jackson warned, cringing as he remembered that wasted evening spent with a shallow, vapid excuse for a woman who had been stumped while attempting to calculate a twenty percent tip on a hundred dollar check. "She had blonde hair and big tits going for her, that's pretty much it."_

"_Those are the best kind!"_

"_Fine, I'll give you her number then," Jackson said and turned his focus back to Vanessa who was making her way towards the check out isle. She was leaning heavily against her shopping cart and something about the way she moved drew his attention. There was something disconcerting about that gait; the slow, deliberate steps of one in pain. Then her hand clutched her right side and he saw her wince._

"_Did you see that?" Jackson asked. "She's been doing that all day, something's wrong."_

"_It's none of your business, Jackson. Listen to me, find another girl; this one is nothing but trouble."_

"_Trouble, what are you talking about?" Jackson asked._

"_Some members of the Falcone family aren't too excited about your relationship with her. **Some people** don't want to see you running around with Crane's widow and **some people **think that baby is an abomination."_

_No sooner had Tom finished his sentence when Jackson's hands found his throat, "**Some people **are going to have a knife buried in their gut if they talk about her like that again," he threatened._

"_Relax, Jack; their words, not mine," Tom said, pushing Jackson's hand away. He continued to rub his throat and glanced over at Jackson, who was still seething. "You love her, don't you?"_

"_No."_

"_No? Well, congratulations," Tom said._

"_What for?"_

"_You just told your first lie; how does it feel?"_

"_I'm not lying. She's fun to have around and she saved my ass when she really didn't have to. I'm indebted to her, that's all. I never said I loved her."_

"_Okay then, turn around and let's put that to the test," Tom said._

_Jackson looked up to see a group of five people gathered in front of the store and he distinctly heard a baby crying._

"_What the hell?" he mumbled._

_One of the bystanders stepped to the side and Jackson saw Vanessa, kneeling on the ground with her baby clutched tightly in her arms and her groceries spread all over the sidewalk. She rose to her feet of her own volition, but Jackson could see she was unsteady. The few kind souls left in this city were gathering her things and she accepted their help graciously. Jackson read her lips as she thanked them and blamed her sudden collapse on a muscle cramp; it was a blatant lie, he could sense as much and he found himself gripping the door handle._

"_You're not going anywhere," Tom said, grabbing his arm before he had a chance to get out of the car._

"_Get your hands off me, Tom," Jackson warned, his voice taking on that all too familiar rasp._

"_Take my advice, you idiot, leave her alone. We don't settle down with the ones we love. We marry the blonde women with big tits that we don't give a damn about; everybody's happy and everybody's safe."_

"_I told you, I don't love her," Jackson repeated._

"_Denying it won't keep her safe. How many woman and children have you seen die in this line of work because they were loved by the wrong man? If somebody wanted to hurt you, **really** hurt you, who do you think they'd go after?"_

_Jackson froze and sat there, watching as Vanessa crossed the street. What Tom was saying was absolutely right, he should let her go, but when he saw her clutch her side again as she walked up the front steps of her apartment building, all those words of wisdom went out the window._

"_To hell with this," Jackson said and stepped out of the car._

_He took off down the sidewalk, ignoring Tom as he also exited the vehicle and began calling after him. When Jackson passed her living room window, he caught a glimpse of her through the lace panel curtains; she saw him too. Their eyes locked for a split second and then she collapsed._

_Jackson rushed to her front door. Finding it locked, he began to throw himself against it. Inside the apartment, he could hear Ava's screams mingled with Vanessa's cries for help. Outside, he could hear Tom calling to him from the bottom of the steps, asking him what was going on. _

_Jackson couldn't answer him; he didn't know what was happening. All he knew and all he cared about was getting into that apartment and he would do so, even if it meant clawing through the door with his bare hands._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jackson had racked his brain for the better part of an hour, trying to figure out what "Sundown" meant. Other then the title of a catchy song by Gordon Lightfoot, he was drawing a blank.

In his desperation, he had found himself outside the home of an old friend. He was out of mid-town Gotham now. This was Granton, home to Gotham Stadium and the charming city where Tom, always the avid sports fan, resided. As Jackson traipsed up the steps, he took a moment to survey his now sixty-one year old retired partner's home. Financially, life had been good to Tom; this was by far the largest home on the street. Tom's wife had left him a few years back, but the man had no trouble finding companionship and he'd managed to retire with enough money to purchase a small country, should he choose to do so. Jackson could imagine worse fates.

"Hi," Jackson said in a daze when the door opened. He was fully aware he'd have to endure an, _"I told you so,"_ but he was also hoping to get some much needed direction. He was out of options at this point. There was nowhere else to go.

They hadn't seen each other in years, but Tom asked, "Jesus, what the hell happened to your face?" as if they'd just spoken yesterday.

"He took them," was all Jackson could say.

"What are you talking about? Who's he? Who did _he_ take?"

"Crane, he took Vanessa and Ava."

"Impossible; dead men don't kidnap people."

"This one did," Jackson insisted as he stepped into Tom's house uninvited and threw three hastily folded road maps onto his coffee table.

"I've got nothing to go on, somebody mentioned 'Sundown' and I know I've heard that name before, but I can't find it on any of these maps. I don't know what it could be."

"Of course you didn't find it on a map. They shut the place down ten years ago," Tom said.

"You know the place?"

"It used to be an office park, a very hot property in its day with a view of The River Liberty on one side and the mountains on the other. The list to rent space in there was a mile long until the airport relocated and the redirected flights started passing overhead every twenty minutes. To add insult to injury they built too close to the wetlands and the building sunk twelve inches in the first two years. Nobody wants to rent space in a condemned building with a flooded basement and planes flying overhead all day long."

"Okay…," Jackson sighed in relief. "Sundown Office Park…by the airport. Thanks, Tom, I owe you one."

"What are you doing? What's your plan, Jackson?" Tom asked, stopping Jackson as he turned to leave.

"I'm going after them. I have to track them down before that maniac does something to Vanessa….or Ava," he said and shuddered at the thought of that innocent young girl meeting her father face to face for the first time.

There had been relative peace in their lives for so long. The memories of Crane had begun to fade away, for him at least. Now, that Jackson had taken a moment to breathe, his mind began to wander; what was Crane planning? Why was he warning a select few to leave the city and what were his intentions for Vanessa and Ava?

"You don't have any idea what you're walking into or how many people you'll be up against. If you go in there all frazzled and emotional like you are now, you'll have no chance. You're on your own, Jackson. You have to calm down and make a plan."

"There's no time, God only knows what's happening to them…"

"I know what you're thinking," Tom interrupted. "But whatever you _think_ is going on; convince yourself that it's _not_. You have to tell yourself that they're fine, scope the place out first and make a plan. That's what you're trained to do; anything less and you'll get yourself killed."

Jackson collapsed onto the couch. As usual, Tom was right.

"Where's the 'I told you so?'" Jackson asked.

'What do you mean?"

"You told me to cut her loose years ago. Aren't you going to rub it in?"

"Now that would _really_ get us nowhere," Tom said.

"Then what do you propose I do, oh wise one?" Jackson asked.

"First of all, eat a sandwich. What the hell is the matter with you? You're skin and bones. Second, calm down and third, get yourself cleaned up."

"Then what?"

Tom didn't say a word. He plunked down in the recliner across from Jackson and for several agonizing minutes, Tom alternated his stare between his former associate and the maps on the coffee table.

One could literally see the wheels turning inside Tom's head but he didn't say a word. Jackson knew the man well enough to understand he was formulating a plan, but as the minutes ticked by he couldn't stand the wait any longer. Just as Jackson was about to give into his impatience and storm out of the house, Tom finally began to speak.

"My girlfriend bought me some hair color the other day, dark brown. She says if I get rid of all this grey, I'll look ten years younger. Haven't used it yet..."

"What's your point?" Jackson asked.

"It's this semi-permanent mouse that you leave in for twenty minutes and then presto; a whole new you."

Jackson looked at him and threw his hands in the air, "Are you going somewhere with this?" he reiterated.

"Keep your pants on, I'm getting to that. You know, I never said anything before because of your relationship with Vanessa and your history with Crane; I knew you didn't want to hear it, but I'll be damned if the two of you aren't mirror images."

Tom stood and motioned for Jackson to follow him down the hall.

"Do you still keep Crane's glasses in your car?"

"Yeah," Jackson said with a sudden gleam in his eye. Having made the connection between the hair color and the glasses, he knew a transformation was afoot.

"Let's forget about that sandwich then," Tom said, looking Jackson up and down and smiling as he spoke. "I have a plan."

Jackson followed Tom down the hall to the master bedroom where the older man was already rifling through his walk-in closet.

"Come on, I'm going to teach you to talk like a pompous ass and walk like you have a stick wedged firmly up your backside," Tom said.

"How do you know that about him?" Jackson laughed. "It's almost…almost like you knew him personally."

The mutual smiles dropped from their faces and Tom took a deep breath before he spoke,

"I'm going to get myself in trouble, but thanks to you, I've developed this troublesome new habit of being honest with people, so I'll just say it. I knew Crane; I worked with the man before the riots and I met Vanessa while she was at Arkham."

Jackson stood there motionless, disbelieving what he'd just heard. "How..," he started to say but the words died on his lips.

Keeping this information from him for so long constituted a lie and a betrayal as far as he was concerned and in his anger, Jackson rushed Tom. His former colleague made no attempt to defend himself and allowed Jackson to slam him against the wall.

Jackson wanted to throttle the man and if not for their former camaraderie, his lingering feelings of disbelief and the fact that he needed Tom's help, he may well have.

"How could you keep this from me?" Jackson asked as he pressed Tom into the wall and reached for his gun.

**Author's Note: Thanks to emptyvoices for being a wonderful sounding board and to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review. **

**I hope you all like my new OC, Tom or as I like to call him, the voice of reason!**


	10. Chapter 9

_Today was her thirteenth birthday and her mother had promised her an exciting birthday bash when she arrived home. Ava should have been excited, but she wasn't; her malaise compounded by the look of disappointment on her mother's face when Ava had told her that she wanted to keep things small and understated and that had meant inviting no one. _

_Sadly, there was no one to invite. _

_Uncle Jack wouldn't even be there; he'd been called out of town on business but promised to come see her over the weekend. It was a pretty sad state of affairs when your mother and your uncle were your two best friends._

_But that's the way it was. As time went on and picking on Ava Martinez became the new national pastime, her friends had drifted away one-by-one. Now she was on her own. It was just as well she told herself, remembering the old adage, **"With friends like these...?"**_

_She entered the cafeteria; feeling particularly dejected that day, and took her usual seat at an empty table in the corner. It wasn't long before a wad of paper bounced off her shoulder and landed next to her. This was unexpected; normally they let her finish her sandwich before they started throwing things at her and Uncle Jack's words of wisdom echoed in her mind, **"You've got to stand up for yourself."**_

"_**Not today**," she thought. **"You can't fight all the time. Can't they leave me alone on my birthday of all days?"**_

_She picked up her tray, ignoring the jeers from the peanut gallery and started to leave the cafeteria. She would eat by herself today, thank you very much._

_As she passed the last table, Jill – who up until that point had been her one remaining quasi-friend, stuck her foot out and sent Ava crashing to the floor. Her soup, her carton of milk; nothing was salvageable. Her classmates already seemed to have an endless list of reasons to poke fun at her. Had it really been necessary to give them one more?_

"_**Et tu, Brute?"** she thought as she looked into the face of her former friend._

_Yes, unfortunately; Jill had betrayed her and the harsh reality began to set in. This is what it was like to be friendless. It hurt; it hurt a lot, but she was every bit as stubborn and headstrong as her mother and they would never see her tears, just her wrath._

_There was Jill, leaning back in her chair, laughing the loudest of them all; obviously feeling proud of her accomplishment._

"**_Why not give her a little pat on the back for a job well done?"_**

_So she gave her fair weather friend a nudge for old time's sake. It was more a shove really, sending Jill ass over tea kettle; causing her to drop **her **soup and spill what was left of her Diet Coke down the front of her white silk blouse. Needless to say, Jill was less than pleased with her ruined clothing. As Ava left the cafeteria she heard her ex-friend calling out to her, "You're dead, Scarecrow. Do you hear me?"_

"_Yeah, whatever…" Ava called over her shoulder, ignoring the threat and walking down the hall to her locker._

_She didn't even bother trying to scrounge a suitable lunch from the vending machines. By now, she'd lost her appetite. All she wanted to do was select one of many books buried within her locker, go outside and hopefully lose herself for the rest of her lunch break._

_When she opened her locker, an envelope fell onto the floor. Ava looked around, certain she was about to become the punch line of some joke, but the halls were deserted. She didn't hear a sound, so she decided to take the risk. She bent over and scooped the letter off the floor._

"_Hate mail, that's new," she whispered and carried it along with her._

_Ava slipped her coat on and went outside. The cold February afternoon meant that she would be alone, which was exactly what she had hoped for. She sat down on a bench beside a bare maple tree and opened the letter._

_It wasn't hate mail at all, far from it. This was a heartfelt communication, written by a tortured soul and it was moving; not just for the emotion it conveyed but for the similarities it bore to **her** life._

_The letter concerned a young boy; gangly, awkward and hated because he was different. Each and every day of his life was filled with the verbal and often times physical abuse of his classmates. There were some who, much like soccer and baseball, viewed his beatings as sport and the boy, who was frail and bookish, had only his quick wit for defense._

_The boy had never known his father, he'd vanished without a trace shortly after he was born and there were no brothers or sisters to speak of. His mother, on the rare occasion that he saw her during normal waking hours, would curse his existence and hold him responsible for all life's shortcomings. After her tirades, she would often drink heavily and on those nights, just before she passed out, his mother would beat him too. _

_Seeing no other way to cope, the boy had become a shadow, never talking to his fellow students, never making friends, never going so far as to make eye contact with another living soul, even his mother. He had learned to bottle his emotions and bury his hurt deep inside. His studies became his passion and slowly, the years had passed._

_It was on the day of his graduation that it happened…_

_He'd been accepted to college on a full scholarship and though his mother couldn't have cared less and didn't even attend the ceremony, he had been proud. It didn't matter that no one who cared for him saw him receive his diploma and graduate at the top of his class. A better life was waiting for him; he'd already mapped it out. _

_He hadn't even met **her **but he saw her quite vividly in his mind. Her black hair, her tan skin; it wasn't like him to fall in love with a figment of his imagination but that's just what had happened. Somehow, he knew she was real and he wondered what it would be like when they finally met in the fleshHe dreamed that they would marry, they would have a child and in the years that followed, people would see him with his family and they would be jealous, because **he **was now the ideal; a dearly loved husband and father _

_That's what he told himself as his fellow classmates jeered and hissed when he was called up to receive his certificate and life was otherwise, unbearable. _

_While walking home later that day, he felt good about himself for the first time in years. He felt as though he'd turned a corner. Things would be different from now on. High school with all the taunts and beatings that accompanied it was behind him. Offering some proof that justice wasn't completely blind, the majority of the students who had spent more time harassing him and less time minding their studies had not been accepted to college. He would never see them again; he was finally free._

_Or so he'd thought before they had ambushed him…._

_His classmates had come to pay him one final visit, and how brutal they had been._

_The first assault came in the form of a large rock that hit him in the forehead. It knocked his glasses from his face and almost brought him to his knees. He looked up in dismay to see a girl he recognized vaguely, standing in front of him. Shortly thereafter, another of her friends emerged from the woods, followed by another and then another, until there was a group of seven boys and three girls standing on the path in front of him. _

_They hated him; absolutely hated him, though he had no idea why. He hadn't even met the majority of them, only passed them in the halls between classes. He could think of no reason why he should be so reviled._

"_Why?" he asked, wiping the blood from his forehead. After all these years of being their whipping boy, didn't he deserve an answer?_

_They offered him no reasons and to his surprise, it had been the three girls who rushed him first. They pulled his hair, scratched him and tore his clothing, spitting at him while they did so with a rage he could not comprehend; but he made no attempt to fight back, telling himself that it wasn't right to strike a woman, no matter how deserving she may be. When that humiliation hadn't been enough, their male counterparts had joined in._

_He remembered two sharp blows to the jaw before he was thrown to the ground. After that, they gathered around him, some throwing rocks, others kicking him. They huddled so closely that they blocked out the sky and he could see only their loathsome faces; again he asked, why?_

_The hateful barbs, "Fucking bookworm…Scarecrow…thinks he's better than us," were his only clues. _

_Such was the level of violence, that when he saw one boy brandishing a rope, he was certain they intended to kill him. But just before he blacked out, the beating stopped. His merciful classmates had lifted him up and carried him into the nearby cornfield less than 500 feet from his home. Someone placed his glasses back upon his face and when his vision cleared; he could see the balcony of his apartment. The sliding glass door was wide open, his mother must be home, but he knew better than to call for help. With a mother such as his, it would be a waste of breath._

_He gave in, realizing that for the time being, life had beaten him and he didn't fight anymore. He didn't say a word as the tattered remnants of his clothing were stuffed full of straw and he was strung up in that field for all to see. Adding insult to injury, one of the girls had snapped a picture of him in all his misery and had promised to tell his new classmates at Gotham University that Scarecrow would be starting in the fall._

_He stayed there, strung up like a rag doll, unable to cry, not because he'd found some inner reserve of strength, because the blazing June sun was beginning to take its toll and he couldn't spare the tears. His skin burned, his mouth went dry and he lost all feeling in his arms and legs, which, in some twisted fashion, had been beneficial because when the sun went down giving him welcome relief from the heat, the insects had come. He suffered through the night feeling somewhat delirious as the mosquitoes nearly ate him alive. It wasn't until the next morning that an elderly couple drove past, heard his exhausted plea for help and realized he wasn't a real scarecrow. _

_When he returned home later that day, the apartment was empty. Everything they owned was gone. He never saw his mother again and was later told she had never reported him missing. He had often asked himself why she hadn't filed a missing person's report, but secretly he knew the answer; why bother searching for a person, you don't want found? She was glad to be rid of him and when he hadn't come home, she had jumped at the opportunity for freedom._

_At this point, Ava set the letter down on her lap, taking a moment to rub her eyes. This was all too personal, too close to home and the last paragraph was shocking because it addressed **her** directly._

"_Ava, use the side exit this afternoon and take the path through the woods. The front and rear exits will not be safe. They'll be waiting for you and you know how cruel children can be. Be careful and keep our communications in the strictest of confidence."_

_Ava had heeded that advice, even if it was somewhat reluctantly. Her inner voice told her that the letter itself may very well be a trap and her would-be attackers could be waiting to ambush her in the woods. When school let out, she had slipped out the side door. Slinking along the wall, making sure she was out of sight, Ava ventured a peak at the front entrance. Upon careful inspection, she saw a group of ten students standing around the front entrance of the school, looking in all directions; searching for something or **someone.** _

_She saw one of the boys with a length of rope and just assumed that someone else was carrying the straw. _

"_**Would they really string me up in the middle of winter?"** she thought, wondering how she would survive the night if that actually happened and what she or her father had done in their childhood to warrant this kind of hatred._

_She came to the conclusion that whoever left that letter, her father or otherwise, had been trying to protect her, and she stepped into the woods without fear._

_Half way home, she stumbled upon a burlap bag lying in the middle of the trail. Her name was etched across the front in black marker and she reached down cautiously, picking up the bag and opening it. Inside she found an apple, a carton of milk and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich._

"_What the…" she began to say before the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caused her to spin around in a panic._

_There was no one in sight but instinct told her she was not alone._

"_Daddy?" she called out, silently berating herself for jumping to such a foolhardy conclusion. "Is that you?"_

_Stillness was her only response._

"_I think it's you," she said softly._

_Ava took a seat on a large rock and pulled the apple from the bag. "Well, whoever you are, I hope you're not trying to poison me."_

_The whole apple thing had a Snow White feel to it, but hunger caused her to chance a bite regardless._

_She waited one minute…two minutes; she felt fine. No magical spells had been cast, so she gave into her hunger and devoured the apple in record time._

"_Is it true, Daddy; does an apple a day really keep the doctor away?" Ava asked the glaring silence._

_She imagined that he was there, enjoying lunch with her from sights unseen and in her reverie, he smiled._

_Her father had a wonderful smile…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She woke up to a darkened room and Ava _hated_ the dark. She'd hated it ever since that fateful day nearly three years ago.

She was surprised that she had actually passed out, always thinking that was something saved for the traditional damsel in distress she'd seen all too often on the silver screen. But she had done it and someone had carried her into this room and left her in the dark. Her only source of light poured in from the crack beneath the door.

Biting her lip, she stood up and ran to that door, feeling a surge of panic when she found it locked.

"Mom, Daddy!" she shouted, hoping someone, _anyone_ would come to her aid.

It was her father who answered her cries. As he burst through the door almost knocking her over, he turned on the lights and looked upon her with patent incomprehension.

"Why did you leave me in the dark?" she asked.

"I thought the light would wake you. You needed the rest. Ava, I meant no harm," he said as he reached for her.

"Don't touch me," she yelled and slapped his hand away. "I want to see my mother."

Ava pushed passed him and ran across the hall, shocked when her father grabbed her from behind and pulled her back.

"You shouldn't go in there, Ava," he warned.

"What have you done to her?"

"Nothing that wasn't medically necessary," he explained.

"Medically necessary; she's on life support," Ava yelled.

He was pushing her down the hall, toward what she remembered was some kind of lab and she struggled against him.

"She's in a medicated coma," he began. "It was necessary to stave off the infection. Her heart is beating by itself but she needs the respirator to help her breathe. She cannot fully comprehend of respond to you right now, but she is at least partially aware of her surroundings, which is why it's best if we don't disturb her. She needs to rest also."

Ava continued to back away as he followed, crossing the threshold of his laboratory. This room was dark as well and as the shadows engulfed her, she felt faint.

"No, stay away from me; I don't know you," she said.

"That's not true, Ava. I'm your father. Please, try to calm down. I'm worried he said hurriedly and caught her for the second time.

"Please…turn on the lights," Ava whispered, finding little comfort in his embrace.

He sat her down in a plastic chair at the edge of an elongated table and once he'd made certain that she wouldn't fall over, he walked across the room and turned on the lights.

Ava hung her head and stared at the floor. Something about the chemistry room setting brought about vivid memories of high school and the way her father was looking at her now was the same way her teachers looked at her whenever she met with them after class; that sad, sympathetic look that seemed to say, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"How long have you had this fear of the dark?" he asked, taking a seat opposite her.

"You know how long," she said, feeling her cheeks flush from embarrassment but seeing no reason to lie, "since that day in the alley."

"Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"

"No; I tried to tell Uncle Jack, but I don't know – it just didn't work out."

After she spoke, Ava glanced at her father's face. His brow was furrowed; Uncle Jack did the same thing when he was deep in thought and for the first time, she noticed just how close the resemblance was. Her father was thinner, dressed more conservatively and carried himself with a certain air of sophistication, but the fact that these men _weren't _brothers was almost as shocking as the rest of the days' revelations.

Their pensive expressions were so close in similarity, that Ava couldn't help but be transported back to that day in the alley, but that was not an all together uncommon occurrence Up until now, it had been the most traumatic day of her life and the slightest impulse, no matter how obscure or unrelated it might seem, triggered flashbacks; flashbacks to the day when her Uncle Jack had come tearing down the street like a bat out of hell, looking only slightly relieved to find her in one piece.

Her impromptu, **"No!"** when he stepped into the alley, searching for any trace of her attackers, peaked his curiosity and told him there was something down that passageway that must be seen…

_She stayed behind him the whole time and it wasn't long before he stumbled upon the bodies. Ava had always remembered how unaffected he'd been by their presence. It was so unlike a person seeing death, murder in this case, for the first time._

"_Who did this?" he asked._

"_I don't know. He wouldn't let me see his face."_

"_Did he say anything to you?"_

"_He told me to go home and never walk down dark alleyways again," Ava answered._

_Uncle Jack bent over, picking up the shattered pieces of her cell phone and stuffing them in her backpack which, in her panic, she had also left behind._

"_Do you think it was Batman," Ava asked, while Uncle Jack continued to remove all traces of her presence._

"_No," he scoffed. "Batman wouldn't care if you saw his face and he wouldn't have shot these men."_

"_He scolded me. He sounded just like a father would…do you think?"_

"_No," Uncle Jack said, cutting her off._

"_Maybe he's alive, maybe…"_

"_Your father is dead, Ava," he insisted through grinding teeth and a firmly clenched jaw. "This was probably the work of some other crazed vigilante or Batman wannabe."_

"_But…"_

"_He's dead!" Uncle Jack yelled and took a challenging step toward her._

_This was the first time that she felt frightened of her uncle and she took a step away, befuddled by his newly revealed temper and the menace behind those blue eyes. He had never lost his patience and snapped at her like this and when he grabbed her by the shoulders and marched her back onto Main Street, she offered no protest._

"_Don't mention a word of this to your mother. Don't say anything to anyone. This could bring all of us a lot of unwanted attention," he ordered._

_Ava had always wondered what he'd meant by that, but never dared to ask._

_Their relationship had recovered with time, but things had never really been the same. Though they remained about as close as any niece and uncle could hope to be, his blow up marked the day when she had begun keeping things from him._

Ava directed her attention back to the situation at hand. Her father was looking at her with that same intent gaze and under his scrutiny, the fear she felt that day resurfaced and along with it came her tears.

"Ava," he whispered and his face softened. His concern was evident as she watched him drag his chair across the floor. He sat down in front of her and reached out, taking both her hands. This time, she did not pull away.

"I told Uncle Jack what happened and that I thought it was you who rescued me and he flipped out. He started yelling that you were dead and I needed to keep quiet about the whole thing, so I did. The only other person who knows what happened is you," she confessed.

"What about your mother? The two of you must have an open and honest relationship, didn't you discuss it with her?" he asked.

"It wasn't that I _couldn't_ tell her, I just didn't want to frighten her, not with her…history."

"Your selflessness and concern for your mother are admirable, Ava, but internal trauma like that does not go away on its own. Your _Uncle Jack_ did you no favors by reacting the way he did. He compounded the effects of an already painful event; as a result, you retreated inward and your fear, your anxiety over the attack surfaced in other ways – hence, your fear of the dark."

_Psychoanalyzed by my own father and even worse, he's right._

"Do you want to talk to me, Ava? I can help you deal with your fear; it's what I do."

Ava had heard too many rumors about how he had helped people deal with their fears and when his grip on her hands tightened, it caused her discomfort on many levels. Still, she didn't know this man or what he was capable of. Thinking it wise not to test his boundaries so early in the game, she pulled away from him as politely as possible.

"No, Daddy; it's okay. I'm fine with it"

"Well, I do hope you'll reconsider," he said as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Bottling up your emotions, keeping everything inside – that's how monsters are born."

She looked into his eyes and they spoke volumes. Was he making a confession of sorts? Hadn't he spent his whole life hiding his emotions? He had admitted as much in his letters. What did that make him?

"Are you a monster, Daddy?"

"No, Ava; you're safe with me."

"But you killed those men," she said.

"Yes," he responded. His tone indicating he felt not a shred of remorse and would offer her no apologies for what he had done.

Ava couldn't decide how she felt about that either.

"That's it? Do you feel sorry about what you did?" she ventured to ask.

"I'm sorry that you had to grow up in a city where two grown men think the rape of a child is justified because she had the audacity to take a short cut home and a father is demonized, hunted for trying to protect his family."

He rose from his seat and began to pace back and forth, removing his glasses and tucking them inside his suit coat. He was the essence of determination; a man who held steadfast to his beliefs and Ava found his graceful stride almost hypnotic.

"I won't apologize for defending you and I don't even want to think about what would have happened had I not been there."

"Uncle Jack would have…" she began to say.

"_Uncle Jack_ would have arrived _during_. Do you take comfort in that?" he asked, punishing her with that distressing stare, quickly relenting when he saw fresh tears spill down her face.

"Don't say that, Daddy," she whimpered, for her mind had wandered again, begun contemplating the "what-ifs?" She buried her face in her hands, jumping when she felt his hand gently stroke her hair.

Like a tempest, he was. At times, she saw rage more powerful than any hurricane churning within him. Then just as quickly, it subsided and he was her father again.

"I'm sorry, Ava," he said. "I shouldn't have been so harsh. It's not an excuse, but I think it's important for you to know that my anger isn't directed at youI absolutely detest hearing you refer to him as your uncleHe is no such thing, and he is not my brother in _any_ sense of the word. The influence he's been allowed to have on your life is a tragedy of the worst kind."

"Who is he?"

"Jackson Rippner is a loyal member of the Falcone crime syndicate and a hired killer. After I took Carmine Falcone off the streets permanently, his surviving family members put a contract out on my life. Mr. Rippner sought to execute that contract, kidnapping your mother less than two weeks after you were born and using her as bait to draw me out. No one else had ever done that; they had never sunk that low, but he knew I would come out of hiding if my family was in danger."

All her life, she'd been told that her father had been the one who had snatched her mother from that department store. A closer glimpse of the surveillance tape confirmed the chiseled features of Jonathan Crane, but given their close resemblance, she could see how that lie was easily maintained. It was funny to her how after all this time; the pieces of this twisted puzzle were finally coming together.

"I saw him earlier today, Daddy. On the job, I guess you could say; he was torturing a man and he told him that he watched you die, that he burned your body himself," Ava admitted.

"As you can see, he was mistaken. He thought I had died as the result of a gunshot wound and he thought he had disposed of my body, but as painful as they were, I survived my injuries. The emotional scars took far longer to heal," he said, stopping to look directly at her, "The person, who shot me, Ava, was the woman I loved. Damn him for warping her mind and exposing the two of you to his twisted world."

"_I can't tell you that,"_ she remembered her mother saying when she had asked who killed her father. The writing was on the wall and the revelation shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, but Ava still asked, "Why?"

"It wasn't her fault, Ava. Mr. Rippner poisoned her delicate mind. Such was the extent of his relentless browbeating and brainwashing that when I arrived two days later with the money required for his supposed ransom, she was too far gone. I told her I would take her home, get her the help she needed and we would appropriate you from Wayne Manor. Then she shot me," he said with a heavy sigh.

"What was I doing at Wayne Manor?" she asked in confusion.

Ava knew her mother worked for the eccentric billionaire, but she never spoke of him in anything more than a professional context. It seemed strange to think that he was once her "_babysitter_".

"After Mr. Rippner kidnapped your mother, you were taken in by Bruce Wayne. At the time, your mother was involved with him romantically. He's now her current employer… and the man who attacked me at Arkham," he explained.

"He's Batman?"

"Yes,"

"What's his relationship with Uncle Ja…I mean, Jack?"

Her father gave her a barely perceptible smile as he watched her try to break old habits.

"There's no relationship whatsoever. In fact, it's safe to say they despise one another. No, Mr. Rippner works strictly for the Falcone's and it would not bode well for his reputation if word got out that I was still alive."

"What does he want with mom? I don't understand why he would stay so close to us if he thought the job was done."

"He's a vindictive man, Ava. By staying with your mother, he's effectively thumbing his nose at Bruce Wayne and I'm sure he believes, spitting on my grave. I've done a great deal of research into his background. He has a tendency to become obsessed with his targets; your mother wasn't the first woman he found himself taken with, but so far, she's the only one who hasn't died as a result of his affections."

"Oh my God," Ava said, covering her mouth, repressing the urge to shout in the face of these revelations.

"Are you beginning to understand what motivates these two men? It's not their love for your mother. It's their hatred of me. She's merely a pawn and as soon as she's well enough, the three of us will leave this city. We'll get away from all this chaos and most importantly, we'll be a family. Your mother will finally have a chance to heal."

"But wait, how long have you known about Bruce Wayne?" she asked.

"Over 15 years, before you were even born."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Because it was more convenient to be thought dead; leaking that information would have given me away."

It was all too much and Ava took her eyes off of him. Now that the lights were on, she surveyed the room for the first time. Again, it was the vests above all else, that drew her attention.

"What are you doing here, Daddy? What's happening?"

"I'm dispensing justice, _long overdue justice_, to the city of Gotham."

"Didn't you try that once before?" she asked, remembering the stories she'd heard about the riots.

"That was a poorly thought out, foolish plan. The release of the toxin was too pervasive; too many innocent lives were lost. Thanks to these vests, our targets will be more selective."

"Please don't do this. We'll get you help, Daddy."

"Help, I don't need help, Ava. Your compassion is touching but it's also naive. Do you understand the way this city worksI took the head of a crime family off the streets and became the hated one. Now you spend each and every day of your life paying for my mistakes. There's no justice in that."

"Tell me who you're working for," Ava demanded.

"It's better if you don't know that."

"So, you plan to keep things from me too?" she asked and looked away from him.

"No, in two days his identity will be irrelevant. My contract with him will be fulfilled and I'll be free. I think you would be much better off if the two of you didn't cross paths."

"What do you mean contract? Daddy, if you don't want to do this, than we can run away," she said with a glimmer of hope. She knew that sometimes people found themselves in situations that were beyond their control. Could it be herfather was a less than willing accomplice?

"Not with your mother in her current state, Ava. Why else do you think he delivered her to me under such conditions? I have very few choices right now, my love. He'll make sure I stay here until the plan is complete."

"And you just happened to have life support equipment on hand?" she challenged, suddenly finding that aspect just a bit too convenient.

"With over fifteen years spent providing medical treatment to his henchman, yes I do and thank God for it. I requested or more accurately, demanded your presence; I had no say in his methods. Without my supplies, I would have been helpless in the face of her pain."

Ava remembered her mother's tortured screams and the way they had stopped so suddenly. Picturing her mother lying in the hospital bed, she wondered if she should really be thankful.

He stopped his pacing and approached her again. "I'm so sorry for all I've put you threw. In time, I hope you can forgive me and that's all I want from you Ava; your faith and your time. Please believe me when I say I'm trying to protect you."

His arms were outstretched, beckoning her closer. He looked timid; almost frightened that she might reject him. Her mother sick, the man she had always thought was her uncle unmasked as a ruthless killer; this deluded, former psychiatrist who was no doubt still suffering from the long term effects of his own toxin was all she had. At least she knew he really _was_ her father; more than what she could say for her Uncle Jack.

Ava stood and walked into his waiting arms, finding the comfort she'd been searching for ever since she was a little girl; her father's embrace. He held her close, whispered to her that everything would be alright and all she could say in response was, "Daddy," over and over again. The sound of her own voice frightened her, so forlorn, delicate; almost on the verge of breaking. Then she began to cry.

"It's a hard life you've been forced to lead and I think you've heard enough truth for one day. Let me show you to your room," he said.

"No, I want to hear the truth. I just want to get it over with," Ava demanded.

"Fifteen years is too much to cover in one sitting, Ava. We'll talk more tomorrow. Things will be clear in the light of day, you'll see."

He broke the embrace and took her hand, leading her through a door at the opposite end of the lab into a rather cozy bedroom with its own bath.

What a strange place this was. Some rooms were isolated, like the one in which she'd first awoken and others were continuously adjoined. As a whole, the place was a labyrinth.

"I want you to be as comfortable as possible while you're here. Try to get some sleep, Ava."

"What about mom?"

"I'll look after her tonight and if she responds to the antibiotics, she could be back with us within the next day or two."

Ava sat on the twin sized bed, noticing the bag lunch next to her.

"Like old times?" she asked, smiling at him as she opened the bag.

"I never let you go hungry before; I don't intend to start now," he said, walking towards her and cupping her face in his hands, studying her. "You grew up so fast, my love. I can't believe I missed it."

She wanted to feel touched by his words, but when he kissed her on the forehead, she couldn't deny that she felt somewhat uncomfortable being this close to him.

"Good night, Daddy. I'll see you in the morning," she said, thinking it best to be alone with her thoughts for a while.

_It's just paranoia…he's my father._

He wasn't an evil man, not in the conventional sense of the word. His intentions were pure; it was his methods that were misguided, that was all. With the proper therapy he could get better, he could be the father she'd always longed for.

That's what she told herself anyway, but when she noticed that her bedroom door locked from the inside, she made certain it was secure before she dared close her eyes.

**Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter was…..long! Sorry, but I don't know what else to say. It was hard to balance crazy Crane with the Crane who's trying to win his daughter over for his own nefarious reasons. I certainly hope you all enjoyed it.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being my ever vigilant sounding board and everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review.**


	11. Chapter 10

"_He's a self-righteous, stuck-up prick," Julie, a particularly fiery redhead blurted out in response to Tom's question, "What's it like working for Dr. Crane?"_

_Sorry I asked…_

_Everyone in the room stared at her with marvel, astounded that she would dare say such a thing. One of the other nurses even went so far as to peak out the break room door, making sure Dr. Crane wasn't within earshot._

"_Don't hold back, Julie; tell us how you really feel," one of their coworkers urged._

"_And he'll rip you a new one if he catches you talking to his new patient, Vanessa. Mark my words; I speak from experience," she finished._

_Tom, or as his nametag indicated, Darren White, had been certain to mark those biting words and he felt thankful that Julie had not only given him a warning, but a valuable clue this early in the game. _

_He'd be sure to hold his tongue, because he could not afford to lose this job. Not because his livelihood depended on it. That couldn't be further from the truth, wrestling mental patients to the ground and making sure everyone took their happy pills was not how he earned a living. He was here because his boss, Carmine Falcone and Dr. Crane had established a mutually beneficial business relationship and Tom was here to scope the doctor out._

"_Find out his dirty little secrets; get leverage," he'd been ordered._

_This was his first day at Arkham, working under the guise of an orderly. Ten minutes into his employment and already he knew Julie had at least one story to tell. He'd be sure to get chummy with that one._

"_Don't talk like that," Eric, a twenty-something kid with a horrid complexion whispered as he motioned for Tom to follow him. "That guy has eyes and ears everywhere. Watch your back."_

_They made their way down the hall towards the elevators and as they rounded the corner, they found themselves face to face with a pencil thin, wraith of a man; his piercing blue eyes scanning everything around him and sucking all the air out of the room in the process._

_Eric stopped abruptly as if he'd seen a ghost, spilling half his coffee down the front of his white pants and the other half on the floor._

_The statuesque man merely sighed as he studied them both. He looked rather bored, if not slightly put out by this display and his focus didn't remain on the scalded orderly for long. Tom, who had been quietly watching Eric's futile attempts to hide his discomfort, felt those eyes turn on him. This guy was sizing him up and if his instincts were correct, this must be the legendary Dr. Crane._

_Tom refused to look at him the way every other employee at Arkham did, like they wanted to run into the corner and wet their pants. He looked deep into Crane's eyes, smiling inwardly at the look of initial surprise, then anger on the doctor's face.What was so scary about this guy? It was true, his eyes were a freaky shade of blue, but it took more than eye color to rattle Tom's cage. With his full lips and elegant poise, Tom thought of him as rather…effeminate._

"_I'm sorry, Dr. Crane," Eric said._

_His intuition proven true, Tom couldn't help but feel pleased but he also wondered why Eric felt the need to apologize so profusely for daring to spill coffee in Crane's presence. Not even Carmine demanded such obedience._

"_Are you alright?" Crane asked, sounding completely disinterested in the answer. It wasn't concern that drove the question; it was obligation – it would have seemed odd if he hadn't._

"_Yes, Dr. Crane…thanks for asking."_

"_Don't mention it. See that this mess gets cleaned up," Crane said, directing his attention towards Tom, "You, come with me, please."_

_At least I got a please._

"_Go to the main entrance," Crane ordered as they waited for the elevator. "An ambulance will be arriving from Gotham General in approximately ten minutes. You are to take its occupant to the fourth floor of the minimum security wing, room 4021 and I will meet you there shortly. Is that understood?"_

"_Yes, Dr. Crane," Tom answered and dutifully set off about his task._

"_Mr. White," Crane called after him. "You are not to say a word to her. She is in a very delicate state. The slightest comment, no matter how trivial it may seem to you, could have detrimental results."_

"_I understand."_

"_Very well," he said and continued down the hall. His movements were so mechanical that Tom couldn't help but watch him as he walked away, wondering if he would spot a wind up key protruding from the doctors back._

_It was mid-November during what had been an unusually cold year. Tom remembered having to stand outside for twenty bone-chilling minutes in nothing but his white scrubs while he waited for this girl to arrive._

_After years spent working for Falcone, he'd thought he'd seen it all, but when she stepped onto the pavement and stared wide-eyed at the imposing structure that was Arkham Asylum, his heart melted just a little. She was tiny; doe eyed and looked way too innocent to be in a place like this. He wondered why she was here, but even if Crane hadn't ordered him to keep his mouth shut, he wouldn't have asked; he knew better than that and he'd find out through the rumor mill soon enough._

_He had smiled at her, trying to look as friendly as possible while he motioned for her to follow him to the elevators._

_There was sadness in her eyes; it never seemed to go away, but she would always hold his gaze when he looked at her and for reasons unknown, he couldn't help but look at her every now and then. Never once did she appear angry with him for watching her or frightened by his inquisitive stare. There was an inner strength in her that he found respectable._

_When they entered the room, both of their jaws dropped. The place was a shit-hole; there was no other term to adequately describe it. She would have had nicer accommodations at Blackgate. It hardly seemed like the kind of place where one could take their mind off things._

"_You've got to be kidding me?" she said, reading his mind and breaking their uncomfortable silence. _

"_It may not be much but at least it's clean," he responded, trying to put a positive spin on the situation, and then biting his tongue because he wasn't allowed to talk to her._

_Dr. Crane had specifically said…_

_Tom stopped himself in mid thought when he realized what was happening. There it was…the fear of Crane…_

_How had he done it? The doctor was gifted, possessing an uncanny ability to get inside your mind and once there, he remained, even in his absence._

"_Yeah, that mold growing around the base of the sink, that's clean is it?" she asked._

_He didn't answer, it was a rhetorical question anyway and Tom could hear those familiar steps marching down the hall, moving at a quicker pace than before. Dr. Crane must have been wound up good._

"_At least I can synthesize some penicillin should the need arise."_

_Tom liked her attitude. He had a feeling that, no matter what had befallen her, she would be just fine. He'd wanted to tell her as much when Crane had swooped in, carrying a stack of fresh clothing and blankets, even managing to put on a reasonable facsimile of a smile. With such pleasantries – the saying, "Street angel, house devil," had been created for him._

_Dr. Crane's attention was focused solely on his patient; who Tom later found out was the Vanessa. No one else in the room existed and Tom quickly came to the conclusion that unless Dr. Crane needed you for something, you didn't exist in his world and once you had served your purpose, he brushed you off and you returned to your rightful place among the commoners. There you would toil away in obscurity, hoping that the day would come when he would need you again and your life would be given purpose._

_Crane spirited her away moments later, looking almost giddy as he had done so. If he weren't mistaken, Tom would have sworn the doctor had himself a little crush; either that or someone had finally dislodged that pole that had been wedged so firmly up his ass._

_He didn't see her much after that day. Other than a few nurses, Crane was the only one who had any contact with her and Tom had better things to do. _

_People were talking; over the past few months, the behavior of the patients in the maximum security ward had become irregular to say the least and one had even died of cardiac arrest.Normally that wouldn't draw much attention, but this man was only thirty years old. He had been the picture of health and some inmates had voiced their belief that he'd been scared to death. When asked by what, they would only gaze into the distance and softly utter, "Scarecrow."_

_There was something going on over there, but without the proper security clearance, he couldn't get anywhere near the place, not yet anyway…couldn't get down to the basement either. Why was that?_

_Other than the shipments that Tom already knew were flooding in from overseas, Dr. Crane did nothing to betray his misdeeds. To the average bystander, he was diligent in his duties, appearing every bit the dedicated psychiatrist. He was there 24-7 it seemed, spending more time at Arkham than the furniture. What more could people ask of him? _

_An uneventful month had passed and just as Falcone had started pressuring him for results, Crane had finally slipped up._

_Picking up a nightshift on the minimum security wing was dull work. For the most part, Tom hung out in the break room watching television and occasionally made the rounds to be sure that everything was on the up and up. On one of those bleak journeys, he was alarmed to hear what sounded like a struggle coming from the room he'd just passed_

_Tom moved closer, peaking in the observation window of one Vanessa Martinez. There they were, Vanessa with her head thrown back and Dr. Crane gnawing eagerly at her neck. Tom was shocked, not that Crane was engaging in extracurricular activities with his patients; he just wouldn't have thought a man like that would even have sexual desires._

_I guess the Iceman can cometh…_

"_Jonathan!" he heard her gasp when Crane grabbed her hips and pressed himself against her. Vanessa's expression denoted fear but when Crane pressed his lips to hers, she definitely pressed back. Tom was dumbfounded._

_The whole display was startling and even a bit scandalous, but in a town like this, it wasn't good enough for black mail. Falcone didn't own him yet._

_Then the most amazing thing happened. Vanessa drove her fist into Dr. Crane's jaw. It was a damn fine upper cut too; Crane went down and it didn't look like he'd be getting up._

_What did you expect, Jon? Most women want roses and candle light, not dingy mattresses and mildew. You deserved a good smack._

_Tom moved away from the door hurriedly and ducked behind the nurse's station just as Vanessa emerged from her room. Her attraction to Crane was a ploy, or so it would seem. What Tom had just witnessed were the beginnings of a desperate escape attempt. The plot was thickening._

_She stumbled into the hall and he watched while crouching on his hands and knees, feeling rather ridiculous as he did so. Crane was right behind her. He spun her around and Tom got his first look at the now infamous fear toxin. A white cloud enveloped her and she fell to the floor, emitting screams so penetrating, they gave him chills._

"_Tell me what you see," Crane demanded._

_The doctor was hovering over her, obviously amused by the situation. His head tilted to the side, a haughty expression on his face, the only remorse he expressed regarded her inability to respond to his questions, which given the circumstances, were horribly out of place._

"_What do you fear?"_

_Tom couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted to run up to that twisted little worm and snap him over his knee like a twig, but before he blew his cover, Vanessa's screaming stopped. She went into convulsions. Crane's laughter stopped as well and the color drained from his face. Tom knew what he was thinking; he could experiment on the inmates in maximum security all he wanted – they were castaways, the dregs of society, but a girl in minimum security who had once been married and held a job…there would be questions._

_That powder was the key. This was big. _

_Crane was messing with his patients, but not in the conventional sense. What had started over in the maximum security wing had undoubtedly spread. What Tom had heard tonight was the laughter of a madman, one with an insatiable need to terrify any and all who crossed his path, even Vanessa. Dr. Crane was a man whose needs were beginning to overpower his self-control and better judgment._

_This was a dirty secret and now Falcone owned him. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom's ever irrational comrade continued to press him into the wall, alternating between jamming the gun between his ribs and driving it into his temple. If he thought that Jackson was actually going to kill him, he would have been frightened by his fitful movements, but logic told him it was an impossibility.

"Stop waving that thing around like an idiot," Tom admonished. "We both know you're not going to kill me."

"I'm tempted…how could you keep this from me? A decade goes by and you don't say anything; why?"

"Because I knew this was how you'd react and it wasn't that big a deal," Tom explained, trying to bring him to his senses.

"Not a big deal? You knew what was going on in that place and you just looked the other way?"

"Who am I, Batman? Carmine sent me in there to find Crane's dirty little secrets and that's what I did. I wasn't there to be a hero. When one person did stand up…"

"Julie," Jackson interrupted. "You knew her too?"

"Yeah, too bad about that, I liked her; she had moxie and damn did she ever piss Crane off. But it was Carmine himself who put the hit on her at Crane's request. There was nothing I could do for her or Vanessa."

Jackson lowered the gun and stepped away, the fire had gone out of him but Tom was disheartened by the look in his eyes; complete disappointment. Looking uncertain of what to say, Jackson finally turned his back on him.

"This city...," he said under his breath.

"Pull yourself together," Tom said. "Every time you get emotional like this, you fuck up royally. You're not a kid anymore, you should know better by now."

"You're right," he said, his grim mood lightening just a bit. "Where's that hair color?"

It took a great deal of effort for Tom to hold back his laughter when Jackson emerged from the bathroom with his hair in a bonnet. Tom had told him that the dye would soak in faster that way. In all honesty, he had no idea whether that was true or not; he just wanted to see Jackson in that bonnet, _something_ had to break the tension.

"Here, I picked out one of my older suits. If you want to pull off the Crane look you'll have to ditch the trendy clothes. Think classic conservatism."

"And what about all the other stuff?" Jackson asked, pointing to the additional pile of clothing on the bed.

"This is Crane we're talking about here. You need to wear at least four layers at all times. I've picked out a t-shirt, dress shirt, sweater, suit jacket and a tie…can't forget the tie"

"Indubitably," Jackson responded, showing off his already impressive ability to mimic the legendary Scarecrow and Tom felt relieved. Through all their trials and tribulations, he'd never seen Jackson so….down. It wasn't like him to be in such low spirits.

"That's more like it! Now go wash that stuff out of your hair and we'll get down to business."

Twenty minutes later, Jackson emerged from the bathroom a new man. The only thing about him that hadn't changed was his hairstyle. They had no way of knowing how the doctor wore his hair these days and it wasn't really that important. Jackson's appearance was a ruse, designed to delay, not fool completely; but when he stepped into the bedroom fully dressed and slipped those glasses onto his face, Tom's jaw practically hit the floor.

"My God," Tom said. "You sure as hell have the look down. Let's make sure you can walk-the-walk and talk-the-talk."

Jackson stood in front of the full length mirror and bent forward at the waist, leering into it as if he were already face to face with his nemesis. "Your job defines you; without it, you lose your identity and cease to exist," he spat.

"Are you quoting directly?" Tom asked, trying to imagine what circumstances had prompted such a comment from Crane. Up until now, Jackson had never gone into much detail about the Crane assignment; he'd only confided in Tom that he had screwed up and nearly gotten himself and Vanessa killed.

"Yes, just before he tried to cut my finger off," Jackson said, staring at his hands. "Thanks to her, I still have them all."

With that revelation, Tom gained new understanding into the Jackson/Vanessa dynamic. They weren't friends or even lovers; it went deeper than that. They had gone into combat together and emerged war buddies. Now that Tom had a point of reference, he could begin to understand. But this wasn't the proper time to analyze his friends' personal relationships and Tom quickly called Jackson's attention away from his pronated hands.

"Well, you've got to work on the tone of your voice. It's too emotional," Tom advised, remembering Crane's manner; sophisticated, superior, undoubtedly fine and impossible to forget. "Speak slowly; keep it monotone, and level – no matter what you're talking about."

"Your job defines you," Jackson began again, cocking his right eyebrow in an unbridled display of arrogance. "Without it, you lose your identity and cease to exist."

He accentuated the sentence by tilting his head and pursing his lips. It was dead on. Tom could imagine a slew of frightened orderlies, running from him like cockroaches from a bright light. It gave him chills.

"That was…perfect," Tom said. "You're a quick study. Walk for me; I don't think you need any pointers; you know what to do."

Did he ever…Jackson kept his arms trained at his sides as he walked across the room stiff as a board. He didn't allow for the slightest sway of his hips nor was there any hint of a spring in his step. His legs swung back and forth like a pair of scissors. _It must be uncomfortable to walk that way_, Tom thought, but it was a necessity because the man Jackson sought to emulate didn't relax for a second.

"This is all a trap," Jackson said matter-of-factly as he came to a stop. "He would never slip up like this; not unless he wanted me to find him."

"You're probably right, but he's not expecting a twin. He's looking for some foolhardy rescue attempt, not subtleties."

Jackson removed the glasses, slipping them into his pocket and rubbing his eyes before he continued, "I don't think he was lying when he said something terrible was going to happen here in two days. He's got something up his sleeve. I think you should pack up your things and get out while you can."

"No," Tom said.

"No, what are you going to do; stay here and defend your house to the death?"

"It's not the house I'm worried about. This place means nothing to me. Look at it," Tom ordered, waving his hand in all directions. "Look at what I got for all my years of loyal service to the Falcone's."

"You've done well for yourself, Tom," Jackson said.

Tom silenced him by holding up four fingers.

"Let me tell you what I've got," he said, directing Jackson's attention to his index finger. "Kids who want nothing to do with me because I was never around when they were growing up,"

Tom laughed and moved on to the next finger, "an ex-wife who bailed on me two months after I retired because I was around too much."

He pointed to his ring finger, "a nit-wit of a girlfriend, who thinks Pharaoh, begins with the letter F, and last but not certainly not least," he added, pointing to his pinky finger, "a five bedroom house with one occupant."

Now Tom was the one staring into his open hands, thinking about all the things he'd let slip away in the name of power and glory.

"I was wrong when I told you to write Vanessa off. I know you love her; she and her little girl, they love you too. You had something there and I guess I was jealous. If I could do it over again, I would have told you to get out of this business while you were still young. The three of you should have run away and never looked back."

"If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't have listened. Back then, I thought I could have my cake and eat it too."

"What about now?" Tom asked.

"Things are different now," he answered sadly.

They could sit here for an eternity, indulging in this extravagant pity party, praying for inspiration; it would get them nowhere.

"Alright, enough of this," Tom said clapping his hands together. "Come on, follow me."

They left the bedroom and made their way down the hall into what appeared to be an expansive study. If one bothered to look closer, the two gun cabinets on either side of the room revealed that this room was so much more.

Tom opened the cabinet on the left, pulling out a full length duffle bag and Jackson watched as he loaded it with munitions.

"What are you doing, Tom? I can't carry all that. I'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"You won't be carrying it; I will."

"I can't let you do that, you're too…"

"Old?" Tom asked.

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Bullshit; I know I'm old, I don't need you to tell me that, but I can still fire a gun and I'm a hell of a better shot than you are."

As he loaded two pistols into a second, smaller bag, he shook his head at Jackson and began to mutter semi-coherently, "Always hot under the collar…making rash decisions…won't last five minutes without me."

When Tom looked up, he saw hope in the face of his weary friend. Though he remained silent, those tired eyes said it all, _"thank you."_

"Don't mention it," Tom said, pressing the smaller duffel bag into Jackson's hands. "Let's get Vanessa and Ava."

**Author's Note: Another long chapter! Yikes, who would have thought I'd become so long winded?**

**Anyway, the next chapter will delve a bit deeper in Ava's fear of the dark and she'll get her first clue that there is something _seriously_ wrong with her father.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her encouragement when I was prepared to scrap this entire chapter and thanks to everyone for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	12. Chapter 11

_Ava had always been thankful she didn't have one of those mothers; the kind seen dragging their children through department stores by the ear, telling them how embarrassed they were by their childish actions._

"_Isn't that the point of being a child?" her mother would whisper._

_She adored her mother; kind, caring, her inner strength and tenacity matched only by her warmth and beauty. She was everything a mother should be and Ava couldn't imagine what life would be like without her. _

_That was why keeping the letters from her father a secret proved so vexing. Despite it all, she had always thought her mother would be happy to know he was alive and Uncle Jack, wouldn't he be overjoyed as well?_

_If only she could tell them._

_But her father wouldn't allow it; he'd sworn her to secrecy and their year long correspondence remained top secret. Ever since that afternoon on her thirteenth birthday, when he had first made his presence known, she'd been taking the path through the woods most days. That's where she found his letters, always wrapped snuggly in a burlap bag, nestled underneath the same pine tree. _

_A year spent getting to know him and Ava had yet to see his face, though she thought she'd come close a couple times. A twig snapping behind her, footsteps echoing through the woods as she followed in pursuit – both times a scattering of crows had been all she found._

_It was one such letter that she was reading this night as a violent thunderstorm pounded Gotham. In the midst of this furor, her fathers words were her only comfort_

"_The first time I…," it began._

_She hadn't even made it past the first line when the power went out. First in their apartment building, then spreading out rapidly, until their entire street and she guessed, neighborhood, were plunged into darkness. This was the worst possible scenario, for under the clouded sky, not even the moon and stars cast any light._

_It was a good thing that Ava, or any person struggling with a phobia, was always prepared for just this sort of thing – their worst fears coming to fruition._

_There were at least two flashlights with fresh batteries by her bed at all times and she reached for both of them. The light helped, but it didn't keep the fear away entirely and every creak in their apartment, every gust of wind or footstep from the neighbors above filled her with dread. Sitting there alone in bed, it wasn't long before her own mind became her worst enemy._

_Ava could see them, their hateful faces as they dragged her into the alley. She'd been rescued that day, but in the deepest recesses of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had her father not been there. Then she imagined herself strung up in a cornfield, shivering in the cold night air, the end result of some cruel childhood prank. That plan had been thwarted as well. Again, had her father not been there…_

_A sudden rap against her window made her jump and she pulled the covers over her head. She would laugh about this in the light of day she told herself. Curled up under her blankets, her arms stuffed to the gills with pillows, flashlights and a sweat soaked letter; it was absurd._

_But this wasn't the light of day._

"_Daddy," she whispered. "Daddy, I need you."_

_Another flash of lighting streaked across the sky, shedding so much light she could see it even from her make-shift burrow. Then came another thud, not thunder as she had expected, but a slow, deliberate thud; a knock._

_The wind, it must be the wind._

_How many times could the wind lift an object and smash it against her bedroom window? On a night like this, it could certainly happen once, maybe twice; but not five, six…now seven times._

_Could it be her classmates coming to string her up on a rainy night? Those two men from the alley; back from the dead to claim what was theirs now that "daddy" wasn't there to protect her, or worse; something from the depths of her imagination brought to life? As threatening as reality could be, it paled in comparison to the horrors locked away within ones own mind. Only we can know what truly frightens us._

"_Go away," she murmured, shutting her eyes tight._

_Through some miracle, the thud obeyed her demands, coming to an immediate halt; but the unrelenting scraping that followed was so much worse. Visions of someone or something standing outside her window, clambering to gain entry clouded her mind_

"_Don't look," she told herself._

_Something was either there or it wasn't. What good would a look do? _

_Don't be a coward. Face your fears._

_The scraping continued unabated, the glass rattled and she could stand it no more. Psyching herself up, Ava threw the covers off of her and swung the flashlight over to the window, still clutching her pillow against her chest as if it could effectively shield her from danger._

_Nothing; there was nothing beating against her window. No lecherous zombies, no rowdy high school students, only her overly stressed mind playing tricks on her._

_It was all in her head._

_The threat of danger was gone but the fear remained. When the phone rang abruptly, Ava recoiled from it, the same way she would had someone placed a rattlesnake by her bed._

_It was the straw that broke the camels back. She shoved the unread letter under her mattress and ran to her mothers' bedroom, relaxing instantly when she opened the door and saw her mother holding a flashlight in one hand and a phone in the other._

"_We're fine, Jackson. You don't need to come over."_

_When her mother saw her, she mouthed the words, 'Uncle Jack' and rolled her eyes. Then she smiled that wonderful, comforting smile that Ava had been dying to see. At long last, she saw something beautiful on this otherwise ruthless night._

"_She's right here," her mother continued, "Believe me, we're fine. Go back to sleep and we'll see you tomorrow."_

_Ava didn't even have to ask. After hanging up the phone, she pulled the covers back, tapping the empty space beside her._

"_Hop in, Munchkin," she said._

_Fourteen and striving for independence, the last thing she wanted to do was admit she was anything less than confident and self-directed. On a night like this however, bravery could wait until morning, right now she was a little girl who needed her mother and Ava welcomed her embrace._

"_It's okay," her mother whispered as she turned off one of Ava's flashlights._

"_Leave one on, Mom," Ava requested_

"_Okay."_

_Her mother never teased her about her fear of the dark and never lost patience in the face of her phobia. As far back as Ava could remember her mother had always understood._

_As she drifted off to sleep, wrapped in her mothers' arms, she listened to the driving rain and her thoughts drifted back to her father. Where was he right now? Was he somewhere warm and dry? Wherever he was, Ava hoped that he was safe._

_Later, when the storm passed and the sun rose, she slipped back into her bedroom. The letter she'd barely started reading was at the forefront of her mind. When she removed it from its' hiding spot, a wave of disappointment washed over her; it was ruined. The sweat from her nervous hands had caused the ink to run and it was illegible. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ava couldn't believe it. Faced with her mother's coma and her own perilous circumstances, what had she done? She'd fallen asleep.

She tried to console herself with that fact that it had not been a deep sleep. In fact, a barely perceptible knock on the door woke her with a start.

"Ava?" her father asked.

She crawled out of bed and tip toed to the door. Her hand came to rest on the handle but she was suddenly torn as to whether or not she should let him in. Her trusty intuition told her to hide under those covers, pretend to be asleep and hope that he would leave her alone.

"Ava?" he called again and knocked a little louder.

He wouldn't go away, she realized. Not without a face to face meeting, she had to let him in.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said upon entering the room. "Your mother is awake and I think it would be best if you were the first person she saw."

"Oh, thank God," she sighed in relief and pushed passed him, running through the lab and into her mothers' room, feeling overcome with joy.

Ava wiped fresh tears from her eyes as she entered the room, taking a moment to stare at the privacy curtain that obscured her mother's bed. Ava knew she lay just beyond it, awake and ready to wrap her arms around her loving daughter. What was holding her back?

"Go on," her father urged, erasing the question from her mind.

Ava stepped behind the curtain, holding her breath and she letting it out when she saw the sleepy, but open eyes of her mother. What had she been afraid of; the unknown?

Her father had been telling the truth. He had brought her out of the coma once the infection had subsided, just as he'd promised. The importance of that act wasn't lost on her. It told her that he wasn't being deceitful; he wasn't a monster. It was an unconventional family reunion they were having, but these were not conventional times.

"Mom!" she cried.

She wanted nothing more than to pick her up and give her a bear hug but she found herself timidly wrapping her arms around her, afraid that she would damage her delicate form or dislodge her IV.

"Ava, it was horrible. Everything was dark. I…I couldn't see, but I heard you. I called to you but you didn't answer…it was so dark; like being buried alive."

"You're okay now, Mom. It's over," Ava said, taking note of how their roles had changed so suddenly. Ava was now the one providing comfort and reassurance to a frightened parent.

"Don't let me stay in the dark, Ava. I can't live like this. It hurts too much."

"It's over, Mom," she reiterated, wondering why her mother was still speaking about her coma in the present tense. "Dad's here now. He's going to take care of us."

Ava's smiled at the thought of them becoming a family again but her joy was broken quickly when she saw the look of terror on her mothers face. That look told her the dream was dead.

"No, he's dead. It's not possible. I…I..."

"_Shot him_?"

Vanessa and Ava both jumped, the later looked over her shoulder, having forgotten he was even there.

"Run, Ava," her mother whispered. "Get out of here and find your Uncle Jack."

"Impossible, Vanessa; I didn't go through all this trouble just to let you run back to the arms of a hired killer – one who has obviously warped your mind. No, you'll stay here until your head clears. Isn't that right, Ava?"

Her mother froze, staring at her in disbelief. "What did he tell you?" she asked.

"The truth, Mom; it's okay. I understand why you did what you did. If it had been me, I probably would have done the same thing."

"No, Ava…"

"That's enough for now," her father interjected. "Too much stimulation can do more harm than good, I'm afraid. For her own sake, I'll have to give her a sedative to calm her."

"No way!" Ava said.

"I know what you're thinking; this will not induce a coma, it will only relax her so she can get the proper rest," he assured her.

He approached her mother, brandishing a syringe and a crooked smile as he took his place at the opposite side of the bed. "Waking her from a coma only to put her under again would be….cruel," he said.

"No!" her mother screamed and began clawing at Ava. "Don't let him do this to me."

"Hold her down," her father demanded.

"No," her mother cried again, reaching for her IV.

'Don't let her pull that out," he said urgently.

"Wait, Dad," Ava began to say, hating the sight of her mother struggling weakly beneath her.

"I said hold her down. Do what I tell you," he hissed.

Fraught with indecision, finding herself trapped between her fathers' heated demands and her mothers' tearful pleas, Ava stepped away from the bed, throwing her hands in the air in mock surrender.

Both parents looked at her in disbelief; her father angry that she had disobeyed orders, her mother shocked that she wouldn't come to her defense. She closed her eyes, wishing if were all a dream.

When Ava opened her eyes again, she was back in that dimly lit bedroom. Drenched with sweat, her chest felt so constricted she could scarcely breathe. It had been a dream, but reality wasn't much finer and there was not nearly enough light in this room. She couldn't stay here; every fiber of her being told her she needed to be at her mothers' side – almost as if the unconscious woman were crying out to her at this very moment.

_I'm coming, Mom._

In an all too familiar scene, Ava left her room and crossed through the lab into her mothers' quarters. The one remarkable difference; this time, her father wasn't at her side.

Not at her side, but she heard his voice and she saw the chair pulled up beside her mothers' bed.

It was his words that brought Ava to a halt. His tone of voice, so loving and his words so tender; they almost made her forget her nightmare.

"Do you believe in fate, Vanessa?" he asked. "That two people could be destined to be together and _nothing_ could keep them apart; that a love like that is inescapable?"

Ava heard him sigh and she almost did the same. Thankfully, it caught in her throat before she gave herself away. It was touching. He sounded so very much like a man in love.

"_Or a man obsessed_," her inner voice warned.

"That tragedy can become destiny…how different would our lives be right now if you had only come home with me that night?"

Ava's brow furrowed at the sound of dripping water and she approached the curtain, carefully peaking inside.

Her mother lay there, her blankets pulled back and her shirt open, leaving her exposed to the chilly air. He hovered over her, wringing a pale blue wash cloth over a stainless steel bowl before rubbing it across her bare skin. He pressed it to her stomach, moving it higher, past her rib cage, up and over the swell of her breast. He lingered there…and lingered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ava asked in outrage. "Get your hands off my mother."

"Ava, you gave me a start. You're supposed to be in bed."

"So you can molest her, you pervert?"

He dropped the cloth into the bowl and brought his hand to his chest, his fingers fanning outward, his mouth opening slightly.

"That's not what I was doing, Ava. I assure you this is necessary. It's of the utmost importance to keep her wounds and body clean while she fights the infection."

Point taken, Ava relented, if only a little; but she still pulled her mothers shirt closed and began fastening her buttons.

"If she needs a bath, I can do it. I don't mind," Ava said, volunteering her services.

"I'm a doctor. I'm perfectly capable of caring for her."

"Please, Daddy? I don't want to sit here doing nothing. If I can do something to help…I want to help."

He beamed at her, seeming to take delight in what she'd just said.

"As you wish, but do try to get some sleep when you're done," he said and kissed the top of her head before he left the room.

She heard the door across the hall shut soon after and she assumed that he had retired for the evening, opting to spend the night on the couch. From what she had seen, there wasn't much else in that room.

She pulled the blanket over her mothers' body and brushed her tangled hair away from her face. Reaching out to take her hand, Ava could feel her pulse racing and she thought it odd that her father had turned the heart rate monitor off, leaving them all deaf to its indispensable alarms.

"Calm down, its okay, Mom," Ava whispered as she stroked her hand.

They remained there in silence, Ava never lightening her grip on that delicate hand, finding a small measure of solace in her mothers' slowing pulse. Then the tranquility was ruined when the building began to shake on its foundation. It wasn't as if a solitary airplane were flying overhead or a train was passing by; it sounded as if a whole fleet were approaching.

It was making her mother nervous, Ava could feel it, and she began talking. Her gentle voice soothing over whatever was causing the structure to rumble.

"Do you remember when you asked me if I wanted to go to Chile and I said no?" she asked, referencing a conversation they'd had just last week, back when things had been simple. "It's not that I don't care about my heritage; I've just never been on a plane before. I was nervous. I didn't want to admit it. It seems silly now given the circumstances."

If she could go back, they would have gotten on a plane and never come back.

"I want to go. I want to see where you were born, where my grandparents lived, everything! You'll wake up, you'll help me brush up on my Spanish and we'll go together, you'll see."

Ava continued to ramble on, picking topics at random. Eventually, the source of the reverberation came to an end and she heard a quiet exhalation behind her. Turning around slowly, she met her fathers' gaze. He was standing there, watching the two of them intently. How long he'd been there observing them, she couldn't guess; she didn't want to think about it. In time, he slipped his glasses on, gave her a polite nod and disappeared.

Ava felt hollow inside, the gravity of the situation sinking in. She looked back at her mothers face. Her skin, once so tan and healthy, had become sallow. Her normally pristine, glossy black hair wet with perspiration and slicked to her head.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and squeezed her mother's hand.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" Ava asked.

In a horrifying display of awareness, her mothers pulse began to race again as if to say, "Yes, Munchkin; we most certainly are."

**Author's Note: Ava really needs to listen to her inner voice more often! We all should, really. It's usually correct.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thanks to everyone for taking the time to read and/or review. It's very much appreciated.**

**In the next chapter, the scope of Crane's plan becomes clear and Jackson and Tom move into action.**


	13. Chapter 12

"_What the hell is taking so long?" Jackson rumbled as he sat beside Vanessa in the ER._

_Since they'd arrived, she had been given a bed to lie in, a shot of morphine, and little else. After a nurse came around to draw blood, the two of them had been left to wait for hours; not uncommon as far as emergency rooms go, but to someone as impatient as he, it seemed like an eternity._

_It was the sight of her when he had broken in the door of her apartment that was driving him now and he was more shaken up then he was willing to let on. He'd never forget that image of her, curled up on the floor by her couch, drenched in sweat. Even in the midst of her pain, she had forced a smile for her daughter and told her everything was 'just fine'. Vanessa was brave there was no denying that, but when he lifted her in his arms and her forehead pressed lightly against his neck; he could feel her burning up even as she shivered. Things were certainly not 'fine'._

"_Jesus, Vanessa, why didn't you say anything?" he asked her._

"_It's just the flu; I don't need to go to the hospital."_

"_No, Sweetheart, it's more than that – we're going."_

"_Who's going to watch Ava?"_

'_Tom will take care of her," Jackson reassured her._

"_Who's Tom?"_

"_He's my partner."_

"_Should I wait here?" Tom asked upon hearing his name. The feelings of doubt and apprehension in his voice were quite evident. Perhaps the thought of being stuck with an eighteen month old girl for the day was a bit daunting?_

"_No, take her to my place. I'll call you in a couple hours," Jackson instructed, tossing his house keys in Toms direction, listening as his less than dexterous friend failed to catch those keys and they fell to the ground with a clatter._

"_Jackson," Vanessa began._

"_No more arguments from you, Sweetheart," he said as he carried her through the door. Enough was enough; he wouldn't entertain this martyr act any longer._

_Once he crossed the threshold, he turned back to Tom and the dilapidated door, issuing a final order. "Have somebody take care of this." _

_Not that Vanessa owned much worth stealing, but he wouldn't allow anyone to take what little she had._

"_Yeah, it's no trouble at all, Jackson...You're welcome!"_

_He had to crack a smile as he made his way down the front steps. He'd been a good sport for an amazingly long period of time but Jackson knew Tom wouldn't let him go without making at least one snide remark_

_Now here they were; all that rushing, the frenzied orders, the panic – all of it, just so they could hurry up and wait. He hated that._

"_Your partner, what's he like?" Vanessa asked softly._

"_He's a good guy, as good as they come in this business and he's got three kids of his own. Ava's going to be just fine."_

"_Jackson," she moaned as she clenched her arms around her stomach, still feeling some amount of pain despite the pain killers. It had been so long, he wondered if they were beginning to wear off._

_Jackson could tell by her accelerated breathing and her vice like grip on his hand that she shared his concerns. He was left feeling powerless. This wasn't a showdown with Crane where circumstances would allow him to fight for her. This was something unseen and he couldn't take the pain away. All he could offer her was distraction. _

_Thankfully, diversions were his specialty. Feeling her grip on his hand slacken, he took the opportunity to lighten the mood as best he could. _

"_It's been two months, Vanessa; did you miss me?" he asked._

"_No," she fired back without even taking a second to think about it._

"_I don't believe you."_

"_I don't want to talk about this now, Jackson" she insisted._

"_Fine," he said with a pout, unable to hide the look of disappointment on his face. _

_Vanessa was watching him, her expression severe, but he preferred to think it was the illness and not her feelings for him that prompted such an unyielding gaze. After what seemed like ages, her stern expression melted away, she took a deep breath, reached out and touched his face._

"_Don't look so sad," she said when he glanced in her direction. "I always knew you were close by. How could I miss you if I knew you weren't gone?"_

_He smiled at her, feeling his spirits lift just a little. In his heart, he knew she would say something like that. A woman who loved him would never leave him to twist in the wind. But if he had been wrong, if her love for him had faded or disappeared entirely, he would have wound up looking like a complete ass._

"_This is going all wrong; I'm the one who's supposed to make you feel better," he laughed._

"_If you want to do something for me, make me a promise, Jackson."_

"_What?"_

"_If anything ever happens to me, take care of Ava. You're the closest thing she has to a father."_

_Jackson almost fell out of his chair and if not for his grip on her hand, he may well have. He was shocked, not only by the depth of her feelings and the overwhelming image of himself as a father figure, but that after all they'd been through; she would consider death a viable option._

"_Don't talk like that, Vanessa. You're only thirty-five years old; you're not going to die, not on my watch," he promised._

"_And it if ever comes to that," she continued, as though he hadn't spoken, "You have to leave the business, if not for my sake, for hers."_

"_Nothing is going to happen to you," he reiterated._

"_Just make the promise, Jackson."_

"_Alright, I promise…just a bunch of empty words anyway. I know that nothing is going to happen," he said, willing it to be so._

_Wasn't his will strong enough? A lot of other people seemed to think so._

_It was so quiet in her room he suddenly noticed; eerily so. But for the ticking of the clock, there was no sound; peculiar given their surroundings – like the calm before the storm. How right he was; as the last of the drug wore off, her pain came back with a vengeance. It crashed over her like a wave, causing her to contort and throw her head back violently. _

"_It hurts, Jackson," was all she said before she broke down in tears. _

_Enough of this…_

_He let go of her hands, unable and unwilling to sit idly by, listening to her cry in pain. He stormed into the hallway, promising her he'd be right back. He looked in all directions, scanning each and every person he saw, knowing all the while that he was a walking contradiction. His actions had led many to this very hospital and ultimately, its morgue. Now he was here demanding help, because if he lost this one, he didn't know what he'd do. It was purely selfish, but that was his way. He would make no apologies for his actions._

_Finally, he spotted a man in a white coat, surrounded by a group of men and women in blue scrubs. The drones hovered around him, anxiously awaiting their orders, all too eager to do his bidding; he must be a doctor. Jackson ran in his direction, pushing anyone who got in his way roughly to the side._

"_Doctor, I need you," he said and grabbed hold of the man's arm, leading him in the direction of Vanessa's room. "She's down here."_

_To his surprise, the doctor wrenched his arm away, mortified by Jackson's discourtesy. "Excuse me, young man, but there are other patients in this hospital. Someone will be with your friend as soon as possible."_

_Clearly, Jackson was looking at a man who didn't comprehend the gravity of the situation. His friend, as the doctor put it, would not wallow in her pain while she waited for some stuffed shirt to grace her with his presence. It would seem that a little more convincing was in order._

"_She's been waiting long enough," Jackson told the older man. "It would be in everyone's best interests if you made her a top priority."_

'_Is that some kind of threat?" the doctor asked._

"_Not at all, I'm just asking for a little favoritism, nothing more. I know you're a dedicated professional and I would be very thankful for the extra time and consideration. The Falcone family is also appreciative of your hard work and dedication and I think it's best to keep it that way. I can see this going two ways, Doc; it's better if you and I remain friends."_

_He allowed his eyes to burn through the doctor, as only they could and Jackson saw his words begin to sink in. His statement could be viewed as a threat, maybe a bribe; either way, it could not be ignored and already, he detected a profound change in the doctors' attitude. He was an educated man; Jackson knew he would make the right choice._

"_Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" Jackson asked reinforcing the point and bringing the doctor back to the land of the living. People would often get upset when their lives were threatened, even if those threats were cleverly masked – Jackson could understand that. But if this self-important dweeb was about to have a panic attack, he could do it on his own time; Vanessa was waiting._

"_Where is your friend?" the doctor wisely asked._

_Sometimes you just have to know how to talk to people._

_Twelve hours later, he was sitting in a recliner, listening to Tom snore and marveling at the way life could turn on a dime. Ava was fast asleep on a crib mattress in his spare bedroom, Tom had come in for a crash landing on his sofa and Vanessa, pumped full of antibiotics and painkillers was at last resting peacefully in his bed._

_He stood and walked into that room, undressing quietly and slipping into bed beside her. He felt her forehead; the fever had broken and he wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace. Who needed the comfort more at this moment was difficult to say. _

_These were the perils of caring about someone, he lamented; once you allowed yourself to start, it was awfully hard to stop. Forget the obvious dangers in life, a misplaced step, a momentary lapse in concentration; they were just as deadly as a bullet and completely unavoidable. A touch of bad luck and the people you loved were gone forever. It hardly seemed fair and a person could go nuts thinking about what might happen._

_She stirred just a bit, but didn't wake up. That was good, he wanted her to rest. The next week would be rough, the doctors had told him as much, but he was well prepared. A nurse would be here first thing in the morning to help out. Jackson had already been told that she was "sympathetic" to the demands and nature of his job, which was code for "she's been paid off". He could speak freely, come and go as he pleased; the nurse would never question him. If only Vanessa would let him off that easily._

_As he drifted off to sleep he couldn't help but think that with Vanessa and Ava here, safe and under his roof, all was as it should be, and when she recovered, he hoped that this would become their apartment, their bed._

_And to think, he owed this impromptu reunion to a microscopic strain of bacteria known as __Yersinia enterocolitica._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

They had left the car about a quarter of a mile down the road, carefully concealed amongst the trees and underbrush. Jackson took the heavier pack this time around, listening to Tom huff and puff as they trekked up the hill in the middle of the night. The sixty-one year old kept grumbling that he wasn't as young as he used to be and Jackson had to admit, he wasn't either. The years had flown by faster than he could comprehend. Gone was the 29 year old who, due to some twisted sense of honor or new found morality, had decided to fight for a woman he hardly knew, Jackson Rippner had since entered the realm of the middle aged. His back was aching, his knees were sore and he felt more spent than he cared to admit.

Thankfully, they were walking on something that closely resembled a trail. Someone had once had grand aspirations for this place, picturing a new heart of Gotham rising out of what little forestry the city had left. Mother Nature had other plans however, and the land refused to cooperate. What would have been a major road had been abandoned. Over the years, the forest had begun to reclaim its territory, but for now, some semblance of a trail remained. As it stood now, it circled halfway around the office park, which lay nestled in the valley below and it was a Godsend; allowing them to get close enough to observe without fear of being seen.

Neither one of them carried a flashlight; it was too risky. The full moon and the bustling airport nearby were their only sources of light and that would have to suffice. The office itself was pitch black and the darkness made Jackson think of Ava. He knew of her fear; he pictured her alone and trembling in the dark and he could only hope that those fears weren't being exploited by a certain opportunistic, ruthless individual.

Then there was Vanessa. It was troubling to him that he hadn't seen her throughout this entire ordeal. He couldn't shake the undeniable feeling that something terrible had happened. Something deep inside kept telling him that he would never see her alive again, would never talk to her, hear her laugh, see her smile, but as he felt grief start to weigh him down, he blamed his pessimistic thoughts on rattled nerves and soldiered on. Vanessa was alive, she had to be. Crane wouldn't kill her, not when there were fates far worse than death at his disposal – the thought of which turned his grief to anger.

With the way the ground began to shake, Jackson wondered if his rage had become a tangible thing and he looked in all directions, seeing nothing. Under the cloak of darkness, Jackson and Tom heard the trucks approaching before they saw them. From their vantage point, they had a perfect view as, one-by-one; the trucks appeared in a seemingly endless procession. He could only speculate as to the exact number due to the fact that they were operating without headlights.

"Is this the welcome wagon?" Tom asked.

"More like the 'something big' Crane was talking about," Jackson responded.

As the trucks drew closer to the building, a source of light was finally revealed. It came from a large bay located on the east wing. The size and structure of that entrance denoted that it had probably once been used for major deliveries but certainly not the kind that were taking place tonight. The trucks quickly formed an efficient loop, a conveyor belt of sorts; they would pull up to that gaping door, unload their cargo, which to Jackson's dismay, turned out to be human and then they left, giving way to the next vehicle. A veritable army was forming, it was unbelievable.

"What's going on here?" Jackson asked as he and Tom circled closer, watching the fanfare from off in the distance.

How could a scheme, one so grand in scale, unfold under everyone's nose; his, the Falcone Family, Batman?

"There's no way we can get in there tonight. Not with all this going on," Tom said.

"We have to. I can't let the two of them spend the night with that maniac."

"Vanessa's tough, with Ava around, she'll be that much stronger. They'll be okay."

"Maybe," Jackson said, finding little comfort in Tom's words.

"Listen, I know you want to get in there. I don't blame you, but you can't take on a whole army, even if you do have an expert like me at your side," he boasted.

"_Did he do that to you?"_ Jackson had asked the first time he saw those cuts on her leg. Vanessa had spent enough harmful nights with that monster, the idea of even one more, was unimaginable to him. But Toms' humor though ill timed, raised a valid point. The thought of him outnumbered 800 to 1 and going down in a blaze of glory was very romantic, but he'd be of no help to anyone lying dead in a field.

'The ants go marching two-by-two," Tom hummed as they watched this make-shift army milling about in the dark like a troop of ants.

They should try to get some kind of rest, Tom advised; lord knows they would need it, so they decided to sleep in shifts, with Jackson claiming first watch. It was important to observe the goings on at all times. Who knew if Crane would send people out to do surveillance or worse yet, try to move Ava and Vanessa during the night? Besides, he couldn't sleep right now if his life depended on it.

"I haven't camped out in years," Tom mused. "It's like Boy Scouts all over again, except in the Boy Scouts, you don't get shot for roasting marshmallows."

"Very funny."

When his turn did come, Jackson was sure it would be a wasted effort. If the trucks didn't keep him up, his nerves would. As the transports kept coming, dropping off hundreds, possibly thousands of people, he just watched, turning it into a twisted game of counting sheep. Finally, his eyes fell shut.

When he woke, the sun had risen, the trucks were gone and the doors, which had looked like such a promising means of entry, were closed.

"When did it stop?" Jackson asked.

"Right after sunrise; they were probably worried about being spotted during the day."

"What time is it?"

"Almost eight, you were sleeping like a baby, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

"Any sign of them," Jackson asked, knowing full well that there was no need to specify who "them" could be.

"No, haven't seen anyone come or go since those doors closed. No sign of Scarecrow either."

The snapping of a twig caught their attention and they both froze for a split second before making the simultaneous decision to hide amongst the bushes. Jackson and Tom lay there beside one another, completely still, barely even breathing and they listened as the sound of footsteps falling upon dried leaves drew closer. Jackson was thankful that they had been whispering to each other, normal tones would have been a dead giveaway.

Jackson spotted a tall, solitary figure approaching slowly along the trail; female, head downcast and as she drew closer he heard her moans of distress. He knew the voice. It was Ava, staggering down the path so overcome with grief that she practically collapsed before she sat on a large rock not twenty feet from where he was hiding and buried her face in her hands.

She broke down in tears and he envied her that; not her anguish but the fact she was still capable of tears. The people in his world, including himself to a lesser extent, often reached a point where they stopped feeling anything save fear and anger. In order to survive, shedding ones emotions was a necessary evil. Those tears told him Ava's soul was intact, that she retained some level of innocence. Jackson wanted to make sure it stayed that way.

What had happened to provoke such an outpouring of emotion? Jackson had never seen a person break down to such an extent; never. It was as if she'd lost every thing that ever mattered to her. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that she hadn't lost her mother.

But she was alone and she didn't seem frightened, only grief stricken; he wanted to make his presence known, only hesitating because he didn't know how he'd be received. There were too many unanswered questions to warrant him taking the risk; was this a trap, was Ava being watched, would her own father use her as bait to lure Jackson out? The answer to all these questions was a resounding 'yes', so Jackson remained still, watching helplessly as Ava wept.

"Ava!" Jackson heard Crane yell, feeling his heart sink at the same time. The voice confirmed his deepest nightmares. The one thing he'd been trying to convince himself could not possibly be true was now a harsh reality; Jonathan Crane was alive and well. And he'd brought company in the form of six armed men. It seemed excessive when dealing with a teenage girl, but Crane had always been a coward at heart and he wasn't a fool, he had to know that if he took Ava and Vanessa, Jackson wouldn't be far behind. He kept hoping he would hear Vanessa's voice or spot her amongst the crowd, but there was no sign of her. As if his head suddenly weighed a ton, he let his chin fall to his chest, allowing the misery and frustration to flow through him. The uncertainty surrounding her well being was the most horrible form of torture. It wore on him heavily, worse than any device or toxin the doctor might employ. Even if Crane had drugged her, violated her, brainwashed her; whatever the case may be – he just needed to know that she was alive. Jackson would help her through the rest.

He saw Ava jump and frantically wipe the tears from her face. That she would react so strongly and go to such lengths to hide her emotions from Crane spoke volumes, it told Jackson that she didn't quite trust her father.

"Are you feeling alright?" Crane asked. Sensing her misgivings and attributing it solely to the men with guns, he waved the guards away. They gave father and daughter some privacy but were never far off and always watching. Crane looked uncharacteristically concerned as he crouched down next her, placing his hand over hers in an attempt to comfort her. Jackson knew it was an act, that any display of kindness springing forth from that man was disingenuous at best.

Jackson clenched his jaw, feeling his entire body tense. Dear old dad had yet to do anything that could be construed as inappropriate but Jackson knew what he was capable of. He remembered the nights when he would hold Vanessa in his arms, listening to her sorrowful cries as she told him _everything_ – the embarrassment of having once felt affection for a man like that, the humiliation of being seen as a helpless victim and the fear she had felt when she'd been forced to face him again. She had told Jackson that she would never feel safe; that feeling safe meant becoming vulnerable and every time she felt like she had gotten back on her feet, Crane always found a way to pull the rug out from under her. Knowing that he could never truly convince her otherwise, he just listened to her. Some of the details, he didn't want to hear, but these ugly secrets had been locked away for years, she had to get them out and the fact that she trusted him enough to share the details with him, meant that he _had_ to listen. Every time she finished, he would tell her it was over and he promised to keep her safe.

Another promise made, another promise broken; when it came to Vanessa, it seemed he was always a day late and a dollar short. Now he listened as Ava suffered under her fathers' care, much like Vanessa and countless others before her.

"I just wanted to sit for a while, Daddy," she responded.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Ava. I know you wanted some fresh air but don't you think it would be best if you came back with me and lay down for awhile?" he asked, moving behind Ava and rubbing her shoulders as he spoke.

"_Get your hands off her",_ Jackson thought as his mind reeled.

He knew Crane to be a dangerous man, one who acted on impulse and if he didn't take his hands off that child, Jackson didn't know how much longer he'd be able to resist the urge to sneak up behind him and cut his throat. The man was evil, diseased; every touch, every word directed at that young girl was unclean and he found his hands drifting towards his firearm.

Tom grabbed him, shaking his head. "Just wait," he whispered in a voice barely perceptible to Jackson, let alone the company standing not twenty feet away. For a fleeting moment he thought, _why not take her?_ Tom was a wild card, only Jackson knew he was here and even though they might be outnumbered, they had the element of surprise. He had a vision of Crane lying on the ground with a bullet in his chest, twitching every time Jackson fired another round, stopping only when the clip was empty. But he knew it wasn't an option, not yet anyway. Although the pistol he was carrying had a silencer, he didn't see any on the rifles Cranes' guards were carrying and if a firefight broke out, he might as well set off fireworks to announce his presence - and who knew what orders Crane had given should he not return? In this scenario, Vanessa was Crane's wildcard; Jackson would have to remain hidden.

"You're so upset," Crane continued, his hands rubbing fervently along her upper arms. "What can we do to alleviate that?"

"I want Mom to wake up," Ava cried, the first mention of Vanessa that Jackson had heard in a long time.

"Soon, Ava, I promise."

"I don't believe you; I saw what you were doing last night."

"How long have you known me?" Crane asked.

"Three years," Ava responded and Jackson was floored. All this time, Crane had been priming the pump, working on Ava until the time was right to make his move. She had been leading a double life, keeping secrets and Jackson couldn't help but feel that they were even in that regard. How much time had the three of them wasted running from the truth? At the time, he'd convinced himself that the deception was in her best interests, it all seemed so senseless now.

"And in that time, have I ever done anything to hurt you?"

"No," Ava responded, closing her eyes, letting the tears fall as her father massaged her neck.

"Haven't I gone out of my way to guarantee your safety?"

"Yes."

"Then what makes you believe I would ever harm your mother?"

"I want to see her, I want my mother," she began to sob.

"_God damn him,"_ Jackson thought. Had Crane sunk that low, that he would break a fifteen year old girl for sport?

"In due time, my love. Until then, remember what I said, she's battling an infection. Right now, my concern lies with you"

With all this talk about strange goings on during the night, the only consolation Jackson had was that Vanessa was fighting off some kind of infection. In order to do that, one had to be alive.

"Come with me, Ava. It's time we went back," Crane ordered as he began walking towards the office park.

She lingered and Jackson heard her sob again. Wanting nothing more than to go to her, sweep her away from all this torment, his leg involuntarily shifted, brushing against a pile of fallen leaves. Tom winced; Ava gasped, and then fell silent.

_Shit…_

He had screwed up; she was looking right in their direction. It was only a matter of time before she ran down the path and told her father she'd heard a noise and then all hell would break loose. Taking a huge chance, hoping for another alternative, he rose to his feet and she looked at him as if she were seeing double. She glanced down the trail at her father, who had just gone around the bend, then looked at Jackson. Making sure his gun stayed hidden, he tousled his hair in hopes that she would recognize him. He had to give her comfort; he had to let her know that she wasn't alone, that her future didn't lie with Jonathan Crane.

"Uncle Jack," she whispered.

He didn't say anything, just motioned for her to come to him but she looked down the path and shook her head.

"They're too close."

"Are you okay, Angel?" Jackson asked, careful to keep an eye open for any sign of Crane, knowing that he wouldn't allow her much time to compose herself before he came back.

Ava shrugged her shoulders, "Mom's sick," was her cryptic answer.

"Ava, who are you talking too?" Crane called from around the corner. He was drawing closer, forcing Jackson back into hiding before he could ask her to elaborate.

"No one, Daddy, I was just admiring the view. I'm glad they stopped building when they did; it's beautiful up here"

"Yes, it certainly is," he said, taking her hand and guiding her down the path.

Then she was gone, but he could still hear her voice as she walked away, hand in hand with a lunatic. But he was confident in the knowledge that she was wise beyond her years, stronger than her father knew and had the ability to defend herself. Already, she had proven her skills, manipulating a man who viewed mind games as a form of art.

"I didn't see anyone come out. I didn't dose off," Tom insisted.

"I know," Jackson answered solemnly.

He knew Tom wasn't a slacker but Ava had still caught them by surprise. It was actually the first break they'd been given since they got here. Now Jackson knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she hadn't come through those main doors.

There was another way inside that building, something more subtle than that busy entrance.

And he would find it…..

**Author's Note: Finally, after more than two weeks, I have updated this story. Writer's block is a pain in the ass! **

**The next chapter will be from Ava's POV and will spell out what has her so upset and how she's going to help her Uncle Jack in a very subtle way.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being a wonderful sounding board and everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review. I appreciate your support!**


	14. Chapter 13

_Dear Daddy,_

_Kind of a lame beginning, I know, but after starting and stopping this letter about a hundred times, this is the best I could do._

_I took a head count last week and there are no less than ten letters from you stuffed under my mattress. I've kept them hidden from Mom and Uncle Jack because I know that's what you wanted and I promised myself I wouldn't betray your confidence. _

_You've told me so much, I feel I know all there is to know about you and we haven't even met, not face-to-face anyway. Enough of this one sided correspondence, I suppose. I think it's time I told you a little bit about me._

_I want to start by saying; I'm glad that you're out there, watching over me. I'd rather it be that way – to not see you and know that you're okay, then to have no contact with you at all. But don't you think we've kept this a secret long enough? At the very least, I think we should tell Mom. She could use some good news in her life right about now._

_Things have been hard for both of us and I think she misses you, even if she tries to put up a brave front._

_I asked her about you the other day. More so than I normally would; she always gets so worked up when I talk about you that I stop after a question or two, but this time I really pressed her for information. I guess it's the little things I'm curious about, stuff that doesn't come across on paper…the way you laugh, your smile. My only point of reference is Uncle Jack and I've found myself staring at him a lot lately; ever since that day in the alley. I'm looking for traces of you, I suppose. I can't really describe it; I just need to construct this image of you in my head. You must know what I'm talking about; you grew up without a father. You can't tell me that you didn't stay up nights wondering what he was like and why he left you behind. I just want to know you and sometimes when I'm with Uncle Jack and the three of us are having dinner together or he's walking me home from school, I try to pretend he's you. I don't think you really need me to tell you that it's not the same._

_I also wanted to know how it happened; how did the two of you fall in love? Do either of you regret it? Mom said that during your first therapy session, when she broke down recounting her attack, you comforted her and when she wanted to give up and fade away, you gave her strength – that's when her feelings for you began to surface. She said that the feelings you had for each other were complex, mystifying, and intense, but she never mentions love. I'm not sure why. Maybe over the years, she's convinced herself that she never loved you in hopes of dulling the pain or maybe the two of you were torn apart before your relationship had a chance to grow? People don't always fall madly in love at first sight; sometimes it takes a while. It's hard to believe that she never cared for you; not when she seemed heartbroken when she spoke of the riots. She said you were brilliant and wonders what you could have accomplished had you chosen another path, but she doesn't regret what happened between the two of you. If things had been different, she wouldn't have me and she said she couldn't even imagine that._

_I do wonder what it would be like if you had never developed that toxin. I can see you, me and Mom in a nice house outside the city; happy and safe. Kind of sounds like Bruce Wayne's lifestyle without the impulse buying and spelunking. But I know that the chances of us living that kind of life are about as likely as that man spending a quiet evening at home. I can't fault him really; in this city, living a quiet life will get you killed. When I see Gotham, cesspool that it is, I can understand why you did what you did. I think that Mom is being a bit too hopeful and little naive when she says that most of the people in the Narrows are inherently good. She should spend a day at Gotham High sometime. _

_At least she was willing to give me more information. At the time, I thought it would be good for the two of us to talk about it in greater detail. Stirring up these memories, having her think about you more, might make it less of a shock when she does see you again. Crazy though our past may be there's no point running from it. It will always catch up with you sooner or later._

_Now I'm not so sure that pressuring her for more information was a good idea, because later that night, morning to be exact, it was well past 1:00 a.m., I went to the kitchen for a drink of water and I heard the shower running in her bathroom. I was a little concerned. She's almost never up that late and when she is, she's watching TV, not showering. So I crept up to the door and listened. I could hear her inside. Even though she was using the water to hide it, I knew she was crying._

_I thought about going in. Believe me, I wanted to, but I went back to my room. I knew my questions were what got her so upset in the first place. I felt guilty and didn't know what I would have said if I had gone in there. I also knew she wouldn't want me to see her like that. I would feel the same way. I've hidden things from her and the older I get; the more things there are to hide. It's mostly what goes on at school…if she only knew the half of it! I don't want her to know that the other kids call me "Scarecrow". I think that would tear her up inside. Just like she doesn't want me to know how much it hurt to lose you._

_Then things got worse and I don't think my questions could have been more poorly timed if I had planned it. Really, this is what motivated me to write to you because Mom needs you now more than ever_

_I came home from school yesterday and found her sitting at the kitchen table with the cordless phone in her hand, gazing out the window. When I asked her what was wrong, she said that Jim Gordon from the GCPD had just called; Gotham Cemetery had been vandalized. Two dozen head stones were smashed, including her husbands and her friend Julie. (I hope that doesn't upset you too. Mom says she met her while she was at Arkham and the two of you worked together. Were you close?)_

_In any case, the way Mom was acting scared me and I didn't know what to say. She just kept looking out the window, she never said a word. Finally, I called Uncle Jack. He seems to understand her, sometimes better than I do and he has a knack for cheering her up. Every now and then I tell him he's a people person and that always makes him laugh._

_After he arrived, I left them alone to talk but I could still hear parts of their conversation. I wasn't eavesdropping, I promise, our apartment is just tiny. Uncle Jack kept saying that 'enough was enough' and he mentioned something about living in an 'alternate reality'; whatever that means. Either way, it wasn't helping and Mom seemed even more upset by what he had said. I walked back into the kitchen, wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear that I loved her. It was the best I could do and it made a big difference. Never underestimate the power of a hug, but it's a shame that you weren't there to comfort her as well. As close as she and Uncle Jack may be, she'll never have the kind of relationship with him that she had with you…and he's not my father._

_I didn't want to tell her what I was really thinking; that there's no point in crying. That people who show disrespect for the dead have none for the living. Tears only give people like that satisfaction and encouragement – most people who grow up in Gotham learn that lesson before their tenth birthday, but Mom didn't grow up here; she doesn't understand. Maybe that's what Uncle Jack meant when he spoke of alternate realities?_

_I keep telling her we should run away and last night, she told me she was considering it. It's funny, now that she wants to run off; I have a reason to stay. I'm worried that if we did make the decision to pack up and leave Gotham behind, I might not be able to get in touch with you again. Mom says she would love to go home and there would be no secret letters wrapped in burlap bags if we were that far away._

_But if she decides to go, I'll accept it. She needs and deserves the change. Her life is demanding and I can see that she's exhausted by it and I hate to say it, but you're responsible for a lot of that pain. _

_You left us behind. Mom had to raise me on her own and I have to live with the catcalls and the ridicule, mostly from other kids but sometimes from adults, simply because I'm your daughter._

_In some ways, I'm thankful that it's just the two of us. It gives us a certain degree of closeness that most people will never have; Mom and I against the world. But that doesn't mean you can go on being a shadow parent, that's gone on long enough._

_I don't need a father who comes into the picture at his own convenience and Mom doesn't deserve an absentee partner. _

_We need you. We need you here, in the flesh, not just letters; they're little more than empty words on a page and having come into our lives life after all this time has passed, something tells me that you need us too._

_I trust you, Daddy. I know you'll do the right thing._

_Love always,_

_Ava_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She would never forget that face. The one that had sent her running; the one she'd been told didn't exist outside the realms of her overworked mind, but that couldn't be true. Hazy as the rest of her memories were, that one was all too vivid.

Drifting off to sleep with her mother's hand clenched firmly in her own, that was clear as well. But she had woken up in her newly designated bedroom; her so-called home away from home. That was a joke. The two small windows the room did have were boarded over from the outside, and if that wasn't a strong enough reminder that this place wasn't home, then the peculiar musty odor was.

Drawing a hearty gulp of that stale air, Ava rose to her feet and immediately, the room began to spin. She fell back onto the bed and remained there for what felt like ages, waiting for her head to clear and realizing that she was getting nowhere fast. Not that she'd ever been drunk before, but she imagined this is what a hangover would feel like.

A heated accusation, placating words, a blue cloth being rung by slight hands and her mother; she had been protecting her mother and as the memories of last nights argument with her father came to light, Ava forced herself off the bed and opened the door, intent on maintaining that vigil.

She welcomed the fresh air the lab provided but not the darkness. It took her breath away and sapped her courage. Ava could see the light from the hallway, so near and yet so far. Once again, someone, and she had a strong inclination as to who that might be, was using her fear of the darkness to their advantage – sometimes to guide her, and sometimes to keep her at bay.

So she made a plan; focus on the light, hold her breath and tear through the room before her phobia had a chance to pull her down, but when push came to shove, she couldn't do it. Faced with the prospect of stepping into total darkness, she found her feet planted firmly to the ground, unmoving as if she'd been rooted there. It was less than twenty feet from her door to that hallway but it may as well have been the length of three football fields, fortified with barbed wire and land mines.

Her right foot danced in and out of the darkness, knowing that she had to act. The irony not lost on her, she closed her eyes and took her first step.

"Holy shit," she whispered as she moved forward feeling her chest constrict the instant she left the light. Her breathing was so shallow; she was beginning to feel light headed. If it was this bad already, she wasn't sure she would make it.

By the tenth step she began to lose her resolve in earnest and her trembling legs threatened to give out. The only thing that kept her from turning back was the knowledge that she was more than halfway there. To go back now would only prolong her suffering, not to mention the feelings of self defeat and cowardice that would haunt her for the rest of her days if she turned tail and ran. Tear stained cheeks, runny nose and all; she summoned her strength and took another step.

Even with her eyes clamped firmly shut she still sensed an object rush past her head. The quick gust of air generated by the projectile indicated it had missed her face by less than two inches and she screamed when she heard the sound of glass shattering against the wall. Her eyes flew open and she saw that face; so pale, stark white. It looked like a disembodied head floating in the darkness and its hideous mouth flashed an unnatural, impossible grin as she screamed a second time.

Fearing this monster more than any darkened room, Ava sprinted those last few feet, ran through the hall past her mother's room and into the network of hallways that lay beyond.

"Little girl, there's no running in the halls," that sickening voice called. It was so close; she knew he was following her.

'Daddy!" she screamed.

"Daddy," the voice mocked as thundering footsteps echoed behind her.

She had no way of knowing where she was or where she was going, only that she had to get away and that she didn't dare look back. She didn't want to see that face again, knowing she would break down completely if she did. Thankfully, the halls were well lit. Quite a difference from the last time she was forced to navigate this labyrinth, when the sporadic lighting had provided her only channel.

Ava turned the corner, following the bustling noises ahead of her and trying to ignore the heavy breathing behind. "Slow down," the voice demanded. Was that supposed to be a joke?

Paying no heed to his frivolities, she quickened her pace and two sharp turns later, found herself in a vast, sunlit warehouse. The front doors of which, lay wide open and Ava stumbled over cardboard boxes and ran into people left and right as she made her way towards that entrance like a woman possessed.

What a surprise this was; one moment, isolation and the next, shoulder to shoulder with a mob dressed all in black. Not a familiar face in the bunch, a room full of strangers eyeing her as if _she_ were crazy.

A heretofore unseen hand grabbed hold of her arm and it was quickly followed by another. Ava turned around, swinging violently. Afraid that the demented clown had finally caught up to her, she refused to open her eyes. Every one of her blows was deflected and she found herself too overcome with fright to cry out for help.

"Ava, Ava," she heard her father say. "Calm down."

"Someone's after me!" she yelled, pulling against his unyielding grasp but secretly relieved to see it was him. After ten more seconds of useless struggling, she gave up and fell into his arms.

"There's no one chasing you, Ava. It was a bad dream," he said softly. "I know you're frightened but it's much too early for you to be out of bed, you should be resting."

"Is that why the lights were off in the lab? To keep me in my place…trapped?" she asked, hating him for taking advantage of her phobia and wondering if a dog collar and chain would come next.

"Trapped; you're not trapped here, Ava. Any measures that I've taken, as offensive to you as they may seem, were done to ensure your safety."

"Then who was that in the lab? Is that freak supposed to keep Mom and me safe?"

Ava stopped when those words left her mouth. In her terror, her rush for self preservation, she had left the person she'd been so inclined to protect, in her wake.

"I have to go back. You have to come with me," she said urgently and now she was the one pulling _him_ along.

"Ava, you are perfectly safe here. If you'll turn around, you'll see there's no one there."

Ava looked into his eyes and he nodded reassuringly. "I promise," he said softly.

Turning her head to the side, she found the hallway deserted but it meant nothing, really. Enough time had passed for whomever or whatever had been following her to bid a hasty retreat. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned back and met his gaze. There was no comfort to be found in those shallow blue eyes. They were the eyes of a man who would forever be on the outside of humanity, looking in, but Ava knew he had long since given up trying to belong. He didn't care, circumstances had led him to become hollow inside and he couldn't be trusted, not in a situation like this. Those eyes mocked her, portraying compassion and concern when there was none.

"More games, nothing's real," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"What?"

"Why did you move me last night? I wanted to stay with Mom. I…I asked you to stay away from her."

He regarded her as though he were perplexed, then took a deep breath, his eyes lighting up as if the answer had just come to him. He smiled slightly but even that mild gesture was inflammatory, for his eyes shown with pity. Evidently, he thought he was looking down upon a delusional girl who needed his help.

"This is my fault," he conceded.

He took her left hand and ran his fingers along the surface of her down turned palm. It was an innocent motion but the hair on the back of her neck stood up regardless.

"Do you see this mark?" he asked and for the first time, she noticed that tiny bruise. About the size of a dime, it felt mildly sore when he touched it and for the life of her, she didn't know what might have caused it. The circular mark, a blended tapestry of purple and blue; it looked like someone had tried to draw blood and missed the vein.

"Ava, I have been here for the better part of the evening. I came in to check on you once and when I did, you were asleep at your mothers' side. It was cold, you looked terribly uncomfortable and you were so upset. The sedative I gave you, well, I thought it was the only way for you to get any _beneficial_ rest."

He was still holding her hand, his thumb moving across her bruised flesh and she pulled away from him, covering it protectively.

"You've had quite a few strange dreams, Ava; but dreams are nothing more than the interaction between your conscious and unconscious mind. They may have underlying meaning, but rest assured they are not real. The person you think you saw in the lab was a protracted image brought about by the lingering effects of the sedative and that's all it was."

He was looking at her expectantly, assuming she had understood whatever it was he'd just rambled on about and seemed genuinely surprised when she began to move away from him.

"I have to get out of here, I need some fresh air," she said, continuing to back away until she felt a door knob pressing against her lower back. She grasped the handle, swung it open and stepped outside into the welcoming daylight.

The natural light surrounded her and burned her eyes. Other than that brief preview through the open warehouse doors, she hadn't seen the sun in almost a day and as she savored the fresh air she couldn't help but notice that inside that building, there was no natural light to be found. Its presence didn't seem welcome, just those God awful fluorescent lights. With only the artificial light to keep the darkness at bay, time as she knew it lost all significance. That building was like another world where nothing was as it seemed.

"I know what I saw," Ava kept insisting even though she was currently walking along a path in the woods by herself. She wondered who exactly, she was trying to convince.

It was shocking to be out here alone and she felt like she had just made some grand escape, before it dawned on her that letting her leave wasn't a huge concession on his part. He had to know she wouldn't run, not with her mother still inside and from the looks of things, they were in the middle of nowhere. Calling for help was not an option. As she walked up the hill, feeling the chill of the autumn air along the way, she came to the painful realization that she had lost faith in her father and her thoughts drifted involuntarily to that other father-figure in her life and the promise he had made just before her cell phone cut out.

Ava wondered if Uncle Jack would honor that pledge; if he would search for them. She prayed that he would. But in any event, she hoped that he had gotten out of the city. Despite the fact that she had seen him in action, knew him for what he was and knew that he and her mother had lied to her, she didn't want him to get caught up in whatever her father had planned; no one deserved that. If only she could warn him or just see him one last time. She would give anything to have him there.

But he was there, hiding among the trees, looking so much like her father that she thought her mind really was playing tricks on her. Then he spoke and she knew he had to be real. He gave her back what her father had taken, _hope_ and in that instant; she forgave him everything because when compared to fear toxins, induced comas and the like, the day-to-day life of a hit man seemed almost normal. His eyes, so full of concern and pure intentions, spoke of his true feelings. These were not the eyes of the dastardly killer her father had described; he was genuinely concerned.

The plight of the misled: her father's eyes had never been able to express such loving traits convincingly; she didn't think he was capable, but she had trusted him regardless. Operating under the guise of kindly, misunderstood vigilante must have been exhausting for him and she understood why he had put off a face-to-face meeting for so long. Whether he'd been born that way or shaped by cruel circumstances, there was something missing in him.

When she heard her father calling her name she made her decision immediately. That one sordid event she had witnessed could not undo a lifetimes worth of fond memories, not when Uncle Jack was here for her, half out of his mind with worry. Not when the sound of her father's voice chilled her to the bone and her initial feeling of apprehension had blossomed into full blown mistrust, if not fear. She cherished that brief time in her life when, even though they weren't together, she'd had faith in both her mother and her father. It had been so important to her. Now, what could have been perfect was gone.

"Winter will arrive early this year, Ava. You can almost smell it in the air," her father said as he removed his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. He was emaciated and she wondered who needed the garment more. "Thankfully, we'll be gone before it arrives."

"Where are we going?"she asked, careful to remain blasé.

He halted at the sound of a snapping twig. Ava acted unconcerned and kept walking as though she hadn't heard a thing but he kept looking over his shoulder and scanning the mountain side. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath quickened and she did her best to hide her anxiety when she called out to him again.

"Daddy?"

"Some place warm," he continued when he seemed confident that the noise he'd heard was harmless. "It's perfect."

They passed through the door in a single file and Ava was surprised to find herself the last one in. It killed her that she couldn't make a break for it, absolutely killed her, but when he turned around and motioned for her to come inside, she followed him without argument.

"Not much longer," he whispered almost ominously when she was within earshot. It seemed he was letting her in on some big secret, but she wasn't sure exactly what he meant.

Ava watched the back of his head while he walked down the hall, wondering if it was too much to ask that something fall from the ceiling and knock some sanity into him. He was a good ten feet away by the time the door fell shut behind her. It was silent and that drew her attention; the door hadn't latched, it was still unlocked. Seizing the opportunity, she caught up to him as quickly as possible, hoping if she kept him distracted he wouldn't even think of it.

"Did the door lock behind you?" he asked, much to her regret.

"Yes, Daddy."

He slipped into analytical mode and studied her, squinting ever so slightly as he bore down on her with his critical gaze. More of a recording device than a man, Ava hated the way every facial tick, every move she made was dissected. Once again, it seemed as if he were carefully considering her answer before he spoke.

"Very well," he said after much internal deliberation. "Follow me."

Whatever screening process she had just been subjected to, apparently, she had passed and even though her actions were more passive-aggressive than heroic, she had still given Uncle Jack a way in – all he had to do was find it.

She approached the lab feeling a strange mixture of emotions; eagerness to make sure her mother was alright, guilt over having left her and uneasiness over what might be lying in wait for them when they entered the room. Ava checked in on her mother first and found that everything was fine. Her heart rate was normal, slower than usual actually, and Ava wondered if she was sleeping and if a person in her condition really could sleep in the conventional sense of the word.

"Are you hungry?" her father asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"No," she answered quickly, almost dismissively.

"You can't mean that. Come, let's have something to eat."

It seemed he was trying to be friendly, but it still sounded like an order and Ava had to wonder why he kept asking her these questions. He was intent on calling the shots and her answers seemed wholly irrelevant. Either he was humoring her, or this was his strange way of being polite.

Realizing that the broken glass on the floor would confirm her version of events, she pushed past him and boldly entered the room. She surveyed the space, noting that the lights were on and had been on since they entered the hall. There were no shards of glass on the floor, no sign at all that her tormentor had been here. Ava shook her head. To laugh or cry; that was the question, though she knew she couldn't do either. Not without giving the game away.

"I'm afraid I don't have much to offer you," he said, acting oblivious to her exploratory gaze. "As you can imagine, we don't have a chef at our beck and call. I can only offer you cereal and powdered milk."

"That's okay, I'll take whatever you've got," she responded and then mentally kicked herself. She was being too damned agreeable; he was going to know that something was wrong.

Something flashed behind his eyes and he turned his head to the side before she could see just what the emotion was. He removed his glasses and placed them on the table, muttering something to himself before he addressed her openly.

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?" he asked.

"No," Ava insisted.

That was the truth. Her father was a lot of things, but he was not dim-witted.

"Maybe you're just disrespectful? Why else would you continually lie straight to my face?"

"I haven't lied," she said. Now that she had made the decision to hide Uncle Jacks' presence, she had to keep up appearances, even if it meant bending the truth.

"So the door, you're certain that it locked behind you?"

"Yes, of course."

"And if I went back there now, I would find it secure?"

"As far as I know," she said.

"As far as you know," he repeated and laughed. "That's very clever, Ava."

He turned his back and crossed the room, stopping when he reached the sinks. Ava could see the steam rising from the faucet as he upped the temperature while lathering his hands. He began to rub them together in a brisk motion and under the hiss of the falling water; she swore she heard him muttering again.

"Are you okay, Daddy?" she asked.

"No, Ava; no, I'm not."

"What's wrong?" she asked when he made no further comment. Silently, he turned the water off and reached for a towel, wincing and then smiling when the rough fabric touched his skin. For the briefest of moments, she saw those hands, bright red from the burning water. Strange though it may seem, he seemed to take pleasure at the sight of his marred flesh. There was no other logical explanation for his mirth. That warm smile was certainly not directed at her.

"My own daughter thinks I'm a blithering idiot and a deaf one at that," he said, in a constricted voice.

He threw the towel to the floor and started toward her. As she backed away from his threatening charge, her pant leg caught on the edge of a cabinet door, almost tripping her up. She jerked away, cursing under her breath at the same time and the door swung open. Its contents changed everything. He could not have intended for her to see this. For once, something hadn't gone according to plan.

A stainless steel bowl and a blue wash cloth, still damp, landed on the floor with a clatter. But for the sound of metal reverberating against tile, the room was silent. Ava looked at her father, his head cast downward, eyes staring up at her with no expression whatsoever.

"More lies," she said.

His response was a challenging grin; one that seemed to admit guilt and wondered what she intended to do about it.

Anger churned within her, the temper her father had not doubt passed along began to flare and there was also disgust. What kind of a monster would derive such pleasure from tormenting others? He was less than human; he was a disgrace and she felt sickened that they shared the same genes. Faulty as her mother's judgment might have been; Ava understood why she had chosen to keep the truth surrounding her father's nature a secret.

"You're upset because I think you're a blithering idiot?" she asked. He had said as much; why not present it as fact? "All these little mind games; what must you think of _me_…Daddy?"

"I think you're not worth the effort it took to bring you here. I'll admit I was curious to see what you would really be like. Imagine my disappointment to discover there's nothing special about you at all. No redeeming qualities to justify my hard work. I spent years trying to win you over so this transition would be as painless as possible, when I could have snatched your mother off the streets years ago and been done with it."

That infuriated her; the thought of this miserable little man stealing her mother away had her seeing red. If she had only known the truth about him, she would have helped Uncle Jack strike that match. "You're a joke!" she yelled, ignoring the fact that she was coming across as a child in the midst of a tantrum. She reveled in it, thinking back to the childhood taunts that had hurt both of them. If he wanted to set the bar low, if he wanted to be cruel and tactless, she could play that game.

"You're just like the Scarecrow in 'The Wizard of Oz'…._If I only had a brain_," she sang.

His stillness, his ever present if not rapidly deteriorating calm, evaporated and he barred his teeth, growling at her like an animal. It was the most terrifying thing she'd seen in her life. Not even those men who had attacked her years ago harbored this much anger and she backed away from him, trembling.

_Self defense, remember what Uncle Jack taught you…_

Ava halted her retreat and stood her ground, locking eyes with her father. All outside noise faded away and hers became tunnel vision, focused only on him and his movements as he rushed towards her in a fury.

"_Let your enemy come to you," she'd been told._

Using his own momentum as her weapon, she grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Her knee connected with his groin in an effective follow-up and he bent forward, losing his glasses in the process. Feeling a surge of confidence now that she was winning the fight, she allowed herself a vision of her Uncle Jack rushing into the lab, only to find her standing on top of her father's unconscious body. "What took you so long?" she would ask, but during that momentary distraction, he recovered quickly and when she moved to take advantage of his fading vulnerability, he blocked her intended upper cut. Before she had time to react, he had a firm hold on both her wrists.

"I'm disappointed, Ava. I expected more from you. Was Uncle Jack an incompetent teacher or are you a slow learner?" he asked before delivering a sweeping kick that took her legs out from under her.

Her head bounced off the tile floor and for a split second, she was unable to see. It was different than what she had expected. People always talk about things turning black, but she saw white before her vision returned, albeit a tad fuzzy.

"I don't have time for your outbursts. I'm working against a strict deadline and then there's the matter of Mr. Rippner to attend to…,"

Ava only gave a defeated moan in response. Rolling onto her side, she tried to cup her hands over her ears as his intolerable words stole what little hope she had. It was futile; there was no blocking him out.

"I know he's here. I wanted him here. You must have figured that out?"

He stepped away from her and she heard him open a drawer, haphazardly rifling through its' contents.

"I was beginning to think he wouldn't be smart enough to follow my clues," he continued. "Honestly, I couldn't have been more obvious without giving myself away"

He turned toward her again, brandishing a small metallic canister in his hand. Somehow, she knew what it was and she saw the change in him. The anger was gone. In his eyes she saw excitement, curiosity, and craving.

"I have special plans for that one. The man who stole my family and thought he could replace me."

"I trusted you," was all she could think to say.

"I know," he replied coldly and again she saw white.

It was different this time. The white surrounded her like a cloud, a mist that invaded her lungs and made her wheeze. Immediately a feeling of uneasiness took her and then she was on her feet, being half dragged across the room. She felt herself stumbling backwards. Her misdirection seemed unending until finally, she landed on her bed and the room went black.

When her eyes adjusted, she could see some light; it peeked out here and there between the sheets of ply wood that covered her windows, casting eerie shadows on the wall. Her mind became her greatest enemy and she saw that horrible face again, heard its' maniacal laughter. A terrifying shriek echoed through the room and was never able to fully comprehend that it was coming from her.

In the throws of her waking nightmare, Ava heard her father calling to her and she screamed for his help.

"Be careful, watch the walls," he said and under the power of that suggestion, the dancing shadows stepped off the wall one by one and came for her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Notes: Another long chapter! This story is killing me, but at least we're getting close to the final showdown. **

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and catching some of my typos; I appreciate it as always.**

**Thanks to everyone else for having the patience to read my story and/or review it.**


	15. Chapter 14

"_What a mess," he whispered under his breath, still heaving from the exertion._

_Jonathan watched with morbid interest as his hands touched the clear pool of water. The blood lifted away, spread out in tendrils and turned the water a surprisingly dark shade of crimson. The way it fanned out was hypnotic and for the longest time, he just stood there, listening to the water run and enjoying the quite calm that washed over him. Shutting the faucet off only when the sink threatened to overflow, he glanced upward at the bathroom mirror. The hungry eyes he'd been expecting to see were not there, which surprised him. For the first time in ages, he felt sated even if he knew the feeling couldn't last._

_Maybe it was the blood? There was plenty of it; streaked across his forehead, smeared across his right cheek where his head had come to rest against her shoulder, and his hands were coated in it. That part wasn't necessary, it didn't have to be there; shouldn't be there. He'd had no reason to touch her face or run his fingers through her damp hair, but after all this time, how could he not? He'd never seen so much blood and the compulsion he'd had to feel the sticky and surprisingly foul smelling substance proved too difficult to resist. These sensations, both weird and wonderful, had excited him and he had just gone farther than he'd ever intended. _

"_What's done is done," he said, smiling when his voice cracked from disuse and he realized that he had spoken fewer than five words in the past two weeks._

_He knew he had crossed some kind of invisible line. He had been a man up until now. What he had just done officially made him a monster. It was a shame that only he'd been able to witness the transition. She knew nothing, she was still unconscious, her head framed by a halo of red; she was his angel._

_Minor head injuries like the ones she had sustained were always a disaster. The taut skin and rich supply of blood vessels that comprised the human scalp dictated that the injuries it sustained would always appear worse than they were. He ought to know; he'd seen plenty of them in his professional career. Crazies being crazies always found ways to injure themselves, oftentimes while they were under the effects of his toxin and sometimes out of boredom. Always the opportunistic type, they would make use of tables, his briefcase, anything they could get their hands, or in this case, heads on and on the rare occasion when they did managed to break the skin, they would bleed like stuck pigs._

_They had never bled **on** him though; he had gone to great lengths to ensure they didn't. The old Dr. Crane would have been repulsed to have the bodily fluids of another splashed all over him. He would have showered, changed his clothes and attended to the poor woman lying helpless on the bed, who more than likely had a concussion because that's what he was supposed to do._

_But the new Dr. Crane saw his clothing thoroughly saturated with her blood and left it there. He could never go too far, not after what he'd just done. Embracing the new fangled liberty, he willingly became the specter that all his patients feared. That reviled being whose name they screamed as they tore their hair out piece to piece, to his never-ending delight._

_Scarecrow_

_Once he accepted the moniker, he was free. Harming her had been all too easy._

_With a novel hand he had cupped the nape of her neck and her head tipped back, causing her mouth to open slightly. He thought his eyes would have been drawn elsewhere, but they remained fixed on her face the entire time. He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth. It was so delicate and each time his body pressed against hers, a tiny puff of air escaped her lips and the harder he pressed, the deeper her exhalations; they matched his own and he leaned closer, wanting to hear each and every one. It was then that his hands became entwined in her hair. He cradled her head in those clever hands and watched in astonishment as the tears had spilt from the corners of her half closed eyes. He wondered if she were somehow aware of what was happening. He preferred to think she was and that notion along with the sights and smells had pushed him over the edge. _

_When he was done with her, he backed away, wet with her blood, among other things and stepped into the bathroom to stand before this very mirror, feeling regret only because after two weeks of anticipation, it was over._

_There would be other times, he promised himself. She would wake up and there would be more. She would apologize for the things she had said, she would beg for mercy and then he would teach her that she needed to be more cautious with her criticisms._

_All this bloodshed on account of a few words spoken in supposed confidence to her new best friend, Jim Gordon the evening prior._

_Jonathan had been spending a great deal of time in her attic but purely out of necessity and he roamed throughout her house more than he should have – more than he needed to. He was doing it for sport, he realized. Sick of sitting on plywood boards, cold and alone, he had begun taking risks, moving through the house during the day; oftentimes while she was still at home. Once, he had been standing in her spare bedroom, looking out the window and she had walked right by, carrying a load of laundry without a care in the world. He'd been tempted to ask her is she needed any help, just to see her reaction, but he held his tongue. Something told him the moment wasn't right._

_And that night had been no different. Jonathan sat at the top of the stairs, enjoying social gatherings as much as he always had, which meant not at all. Forever cast as the unwelcome guest, he listened but did not participate. There was nothing new about that. _

_Jim was there, along with his wife and their two small children. Vanessa had been preparing for their arrival all day and now that they were here, she seemed so happy. Jonathan heard her laugh several times and it caught his attention because he couldn't remember having ever heard her do that before. Her happiness angered him because it was unexpected and not what he had hoped for. What would have made him happy, he wondered? Would he have preferred she lock herself away in her bedroom, never answer the door, never take calls, and never be known? _

_Yes, that's exactly what he envisioned; an ideal conditioned response to his systematic abuse. That's all he had to look forward to; a life spent hiding. What gave her the right to be happy?_

_He was forced to save his judgments for another time when the voices drew closer. He prayed it wasn't a tour of the house. That would mean another mad dash to the attic and even though he'd had time to recover from the riots, Jonathan didn't know how many mad dashes he had left in him. He heard the sound of dishes clanking together in the kitchen, telling him that not everyone was heading towards the stairs. Stepping into the shadows of the darkened hallway he watched as Jim and Vanessa appeared at the foot of the steps: the two confidants having stepped aside for a bit of quiet conversation while the table was cleared._

"_I noticed you had two glasses of wine with dinner. That must mean you're not…"_

"_No," Vanessa said, her voice indicating she was uncomfortable with the question, as well she should be. What business was it of his? _

"_Thank God," she continued. "It's for the best."_

_**For the best; is that so**? The one who used to view him as a sperm donor rather than a man worthy of her admiration was now thanking the Maker she was not carrying his child? Whoever had deemed that vacillating nimrod sane should have their license revoked._

"_Barbara, I'll take care of that," Vanessa called at the sound of running water and then she was gone. The enlightening conversation was over just as quickly as it had begun, but Jim lingered, watching Vanessa return to the kitchen with what looked like fatherly concern in his eyes._

_He made the sign of the cross and gazed at the ceiling, "Thank you for making that nut case sterile."_

_It would seem that even his virility was under attack this night. That was a low blow, even for a working class simpleton like Jim Gordon, but Jonathan had known the first time he laid on eyes on that ogre that the man had no class and could be nothing but a negative influence on Vanessa._

_Case in point, when he slipped downstairs well after she had gone to bed, he poked around the kitchen taking his nightly inventory. It was essential. For as long as he wanted to remain unnoticed, he would have to careful what he ate. He had quickly formed two rules; never too much of one thing and never open anything she had just purchased. Either one of those actions would be overt and would ruin his plans._

_Leftovers however, were fair game. As he ate the lasagna and cheesecake she had made and as he drank her wine, Jonathan noticed nothing new in her refrigerator. The ingredients used to prepare the food were hers; so was the wine. There were no fresh flowers for the lovely hostess; nothing but a sink full of dirty dishes._

"_Rude," he hissed._

_He finished dinner and crept upstairs with an empty pickle jar in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other; essential items when one had to conceal their bodily functions, and looked in on her. She was sleeping soundly, mellowed by the wine, as was he._

_He would leave her be tonight. The actions of her ill-mannered house guests had bought her some time._

_Until tomorrow…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan stood patiently outside her bedroom door, knowing it wouldn't be long before she either collapsed like the emotional wreck she was or screamed herself into unconsciousness. He was well accustomed to both reactions and on average; it took about thirty minutes for the test subject to break.

As always, his estimations were correct and her tortured cries about the darkness and the killer clown came to an abrupt end when, like clockwork, he heard her fall to the floor.

He opened the door a few inches before it made contact with her body and finding that the teenager was more solidly built than she appeared, had to push with considerable force to gain entry. Once inside, he switched on the lights so he could get a better look at her.

Asleep, awake; she was both. Unmoving, with wide, fixed eyes; she looked catatonic though he knew she wasn't.

"I expected more from you," he said, kneeling beside her. "You disappoint me so very much, do you realize that?"

She reminded him of Rachel Dawes and the pathetic display she had put on during her unwelcome visit to Arkham. What a night that had been – the start of it all. So many memories to draw from, both good and bad, the recollections made him feel melancholy.

Jonathan had never been destined to measure his life against the more traditional milestones; getting his driver's license, starting college, getting married. His markers were a bit more askew, with the most memorable being the first time he had tested his toxin, even if it had been but a prototype in those days.

It coincided with the arrival of his first high profile patient; an athletic thirty-eight year old serial killer and rapist by the name of George Endicott. Though his name sounded proper, if not sophisticated, Mr. Endicott was anything but. He was a savage who claimed that when he killed a man, he could actually see the victims' soul leave its body and when he raped a woman, he could pinpoint the exact moment when her spirit broke. It sounded horrific, if not a bit embellished, but when Jonathan viewed photographs of the female victims, Mr. Endicott lost his mystique and became a textbook case.

The men were irrelevant, killed only because they were obstacles; but the women he selected were all similar in appearance with straight, shoulder length brown hair and dark brown eyes. The way in which he spoke of them was also telling; women were bitches, whores, sluts, et cetera. A man harboring so much rage against the opposite sex did not view women as mere sexual objects. The rapes he committed were not motivated solely by the need to dominate. There was more to it than that. This was hatred rooted deeply in fear and when Jonathan asked him why he hated his mother, Mr. Endicott exploded. He knocked the table over and lunged for Jonathan, threatening to snap his 'scrawny' neck.

Another scared little boy with mommy issues…pathetic.

One hand clutching a newly sown burlap mask and the other reaching toward his target, Jonathan smiled as his toxin reduced this mountain of a man to a sniveling heap in less than ten seconds. He felt no pity for that twisted creature writhing on the floor, probably hoping his mother would appear to wipe his nose and from the smell of things, change his diaper. It had been a disappointment. Jonathan had hoped to learn more from him, but as time passed, he would find that the more violent the crime, the more caitiff the perpetrator.

His own daughter had battled the toxin with greater success than many of the world's most renowned serial killers and for that, at least, he thought he should be proud.

More patients had come after that and listening to their detailed accounts, stories they were all too eager to share provided it kept them in the spotlight, had been fun for a while but he had quickly grown bored. The stories were similar, there were only so many ways to kill another human being after all, and the perspective was always one sided. Jonathan wanted to know what a person felt, what went through their mind immediately before, during and after a violent attack. As fate would have it, Vanessa had come into his life less than a week later and had given him everything he wanted. During their talks, she had shown him fear and sadness in its most pure, unadulterated form. Still it was not enough. Malcontent with the induced fear of the criminally insane, he wanted to be feared as a person, not as a mask. He wanted to test his theories of the criminal on the ordinary, to learn her limits as well as his own.

But no matter how much he took from her, it never seemed to be sufficient.

Even stealing away with his own daughter, and he had to remind himself constantly that she was his child because he simply felt no bond, was not satisfying. Both mother and child lived or died on his whim and still, he was not content. He wondered if he could ever be.

At the very least, the killer clown remark had been good for a laugh. She'd had a nasty encounter with his partner in crime, no doubt. Jonathan had to admit, he was growing tired of his associate meddling in his affairs and didn't like the idea of him poking around the lab; his grip on sanity was…rickety, to put it kindly. But when it came to producing chaos, the man was unsurpassed. He knew his purpose, Jonathan would give him that.

Insignificant as it may be, everyone served a purpose. The comatose woman down the hall was recreational. Marcus DeCarlo, the slack jawed grunt Jonathan had tipped off once he learned Rippner was hunting him, was a lure and even Mr. Rippner himself served a purpose all his own. As much as Jonathan despised the man, a part of him was well aware that the manager's presence had played a large role in keeping him focused and driven during the trying times when it seemed his plan to successfully destroy Gotham would not come to fruition.

"What's your purpose?" he asked the helpless teenager as he stood and backed out of the room with a slight hobble in his step courtesy of her groin shot.

He returned to the sterile confines of his lab and opened the top drawer of his desk. It was the same desk he'd used while at Arkham, the chair as well; pilfered from his former office shortly after the riots. Having them here made his work space feel more like home and less like a cave.

But like a cave, noise did travel in this place and Jonathan could hear Vanessa's heart rate monitor from where he stood. Unless his ears deceived him, she had heard her daughter's screams and was reacting accordingly. He'd love nothing more than to play with Sleeping Beauty, but she would have to wait. A decision needed to be made.

Two syringes lay before him. One would spare his daughters fragile mind. The other would end her life. The choice was his alone and for the life of him, he didn't understand why it was so difficult.

Irrational like her mother, brilliant like him; it was a wonderful combination if it could be put to good use, but the stubborn girl was too resistant. He should have taken her sooner but circumstances had not allowed it and for that, he was guilty. It was heart breaking to see her like this, so common; dumbed down like every other product of Gotham's public school system. Jonathan had always assumed that given their similar backgrounds, they would come to a natural understanding and making up for lost time would have been easy, but no, it had not been that way at all. There was too much of her mother in her.

This was Vanessa's child, not his. Conceived on a dare, he had watched her grow up only out of curiosity. Now that she had reached adolescence, he found her boring. It would seem he'd been little more than Vanessa's sperm donor after all.

He could think of no reason why Ava should be allowed to go on living, but when his arm extended, reaching into the open drawer, his hand did not grasp what would have been a lethal injection. He couldn't kill his own child. He didn't know why.

"A weakness within me," he soon realized. That was interesting, unforeseen; perhaps Ava might serve a purpose yet – helping him weed out the last traces of humanity hiding deep within Dr. Jonathan Crane, testing his boundaries like her mother before her.

With hurried steps, he reentered her room, found a plump blue vein on the back of her hand and gave her an ample does of the antidote. In approximately one hour, she would awaken frightened, exhausted and most importantly, docile with the threat of repeated exposures looming over her head and that suited him just fine.

Jonathan lifted her and placed her on the bed, covering her with a heavy blanket and crossing her arms over her chest. She looked ready for burial with one minor exception. He reached out and shut those vacant eyes, telling her she had been forgiven before he exited the room.

_How to help her realize her full potential_, he wondered, lingering just outside Vanessa's door. He did not go in. He didn't have the time. There were other, more pressing matters to attend to and that was a pity; he enjoyed her this way and knew that it couldn't go on forever. He needed to start planning for both her awakening and her transport.

And then there was Mr. Rippner…

Though he would soon be out of his life, Jonathan still resented the influence he held over it. Only when his eyes shut, would hers be allowed to open and he was prepared to move her in her comatose state if need be. The last time they'd been allowed to work together, things hadn't gone so well for him.

Jonathan knew he was out there somewhere, hiding in the woods and making plans of his own. Ava must have seen him and he kicked himself at the lost opportunity. At the time, he'd still been playing the role of 'Daddy' to that silly child and watching him kill a man in cold blood would do nothing to endear him to her.

No matter, Ava had unknowingly given him another opportunity. Now that all pretenses were gone, when Mr. Rippner had been disposed of, Jonathan would make sure she was fully aware of that fact. The one who had lied to him and wasted his precious time deserved little else. It was the price she would have to pay.

Would it be enough?

Shaking his head at the possibilities that thought inspired, he entered the rambling halls. The next twenty-four hours would pass quickly and would be filled with long overdue and much anticipated rewards. Although he would not take part in the search, _he never had been the outdoorsy type_, a team which he had selected personally would head out to the surrounding woods shortly and the hunt for Jackson Rippner would begin.

Bring him back alive; that had been his hackneyed command even though he knew that might not be possible. Still, it just seemed right that Jonathan be the one to take that particular life.

It was all about closure.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Note: A fairly long chapter but not too bad. I just thought it might be interesting to see where Jonathan's head is at.**

**I've also put "The Way Life Should Be," on hold for now. This story is coming to an end and things are moving at a quick pace. I just can't stay away from it. Also, switching back and forth between two _very_ different versions of Jackson was driving me insane.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices, my wonderful sounding board and for everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	16. Chapter 15

"_Oh, the humanity," Jackson moaned._

_He couldn't stand the sight of it any longer; he had to look away. Never before had he seen something so…so ungodly horrific and together with the smell, it was borderline incapacitating_

"_My God," he continued, feeling his knees quiver and coming to the realization that this attack on his senses was so intense; he didn't know how much longer he could withstand the noxious vapors. But he had to persevere. Failure wasn't an option. She needed him too much._

"_Come on, Rippner, focus, breathe; you can do this."_

_Crawling on his hands and knees much like the other occupant in the room, he made his way to the window and opened it a crack. That was better, much better. Now he knew he could complete the task without further damage to his lungs. If only there were a way to protect his eyes as he wiped the offensive matter away, trying to find the human being beneath._

_He had no training in the field of chemical warfare, if that could adequately describe what this was, and didn't know if what he was doing was even correct, but proper or not, it was done. What more could she ask of him?_

_He approached the cylindrical piece of white plastic in the corner of the room and kneeled before it as if it was a god and to him, it was. Nothing but a fashioned bit of synthetic material but once he dropped the package inside, the vapors would be contained and the torment would be over._

"_We made it, it's going to be okay," he said, when at last the parcel was hidden deep within the confines of the Diaper Genie and the smell of baby powder filled the air. "What have they been feeding you?" he asked the babbling toddler._

_Still lacking a changing table, he bent down and scooped her up, pleased that he had once again risen to the occasion. But he made a mental note to ask Vanessa what she had fed Ava that night. Whatever it was, it couldn't be agreeing with her. That odor couldn't be natural._

"_Please don't let it be natural," he muttered._

"_Sing," Ava demanded as she reached up and squeezed his nose, all the while looking cute as a button. Often times he asked himself how anything associated with Jonathan Crane could have turned out so endearing._

_The order did have him stumped though. Learning how to hold her like anything more than a sack of potatoes had been hard enough, now he was supposed to perform too. Determined not to fail, he dimmed the lights, held her close and slowly began to sing the only song that came to mind._

"_99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer. If one of those bottles should happen to fall…"_

_Vanessa would have killed him if she heard the goings on but Ava was happy with his presentation. Jackson had to admit, his singing wasn't half bad…a hell of a lot better than Vanessa's and besides, the little one had no idea what he was singing about._

_When he got to 80, her eyes fell shut but he continued on for good measure. Already he was learning and more than once he had seen the nurse lay her down seconds after her eyes had closed only to have them pop open again. Having grown wise to the ways of the wee ones, he kept going until there were 75 bottles of beer left; then he set her down._

_As he covered her with a blanket and quietly shut the window he couldn't help but wonder how this little one had managed to get under his skin; especially given his feelings toward her father. It was a mystery. All he knew for sure was that when he looked at her, he couldn't deny the bond that had formed. This little girl, who had taken to hiding his shoes in the morning so he couldn't leave the apartment, had gotten to him in a big way. The way she fit in his arms so perfectly; it was as though she was meant to be there._

_Jackson left the room, being sure to leave Ava's door open a crack before he went to check on the other woman in his life._

_The last time he had seen her, she was sound asleep in their bed and with the nurse already gone for the evening, he had taken it upon himself to answer Ava's cries._

_It had been ten days since their rush to the emergency room. Things were going well between them, as well as they** could** go when one of the parties involved was suffering from a virus that attacked the intestinal tract. True, they had been sharing a bed this past week and a half but any conversation had been limited and romance was out of the question while she recovered. He hadn't even broached the subject and the only hand he laid on her was a comforting one._

_Like it or not, she was stuck with him for a while. Even if she'd had the intestinal fortitude and the desire to return to her apartment, it wouldn't have been allowed. Though no one else in the building had fallen ill and the bacteria had likely been contracted from something she ate, until the tests from the water samples taken in her apartment came back clear, she couldn't go back and Jackson knew she couldn't spring for a hotel._

_The lights were off in the bedroom; a change from when he'd last been there. Obviously, she had been up, which made sense because as he was walking with Ava, he had been certain he could hear the shower running. He stepped inside the darkened room and there she was, sitting on the edge of the bed. It had just begun to rain and she watched the drops of water slide down the glass doors that led to the patio. Light poured from underneath the closet door, she always insisted he keep it on at night, and it was the only thing that held the darkness at bay. He could see her reflection clearly in the glass and when she looked up, she saw him too._

"_Why do you always assume I don't know you're there?" she asked without turning to face him._

"_Habit," he answered as he moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Most people don't hear me coming unless I want them to."_

"_Because that's your job," she said, her voice taking on a hint of sadness._

_He wasn't sure how to respond, not knowing if her tone was one of acceptance or condemnation. "How are you feeling?" he decided to ask._

"_Thirty minutes," she responded._

"_What?"_

"_That night, those men in my house and the chain of events they started. It took less than thirty minutes to ruin my life. I still can't believe it."_

_The morose look about her, her tone of voice, her whole demeanor, he didn't like it one bit. She always got that way when she spoke of her experiences. It was hard on her and it pained him as well because of the way he felt about her._

"_Sweetheart," he started to say and when she reached a hand toward the glass he stopped, watching her as if he were transfixed._

"_This is how it was that night; darkness, bits of lights here and there where the bag stretched thin," and when her voice broke, he rushed towards the doors, intent on pulling the drapes._

"_Stop this, Vanessa; it's not healthy."_

"_I know what you did," she blurted out, once again stopping him in his tracks._

_He remembered a time, not too long ago, when that's exactly what he had wanted. When he had murdered those men in such an elaborate way that it was guaranteed he would make front page news. The old Jackson wanted her to read about it and feel gratitude and to know that he had evened the score. Then he had made the stupid, or maybe not so stupid, journey to her apartment to return that locket. Things had changed between them after that night. They had grown closer than he ever imagined they could and he had spent the rest of his time hoping that she would never find out. There was not point in hiding the truth anymore. He knew she read the paper every morning and she wasn't stupid; she'd known about this since the morning it had happened._

"_I did it for you," he said._

"_Just me?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_The man who murdered your sister, was he ever found?"_

"_No," Jackson answered, feeling his hands tighten into fists. He had spent the better part of a decade looking for that son of a bitch, only to repeatedly come up empty handed. Even when the last of his resources had been exhausted and it seemed hopeless, Jackson had kept searching. He knew he would never stop; not until he had the honor of giving that monster first hand knowledge of what it was like to be strangled with a length of steel cord. That was justice._

_He was lost in thought again. A common occurrence as of late; so lost in thought, wondering, just as she did, what life would be like now if he could go back and erase a single event. He didn't notice that she'd risen from the bed and was now standing directly in front of him. He looked at her in wonder and she stared back, vacant, though he was sure he could make out a trace of understanding. He needed it to be there._

"_Was it for me alone?" she asked._

"_You think I have a vendetta against all rapists because of what happened to Jessica," he surmised. "Maybe I do. I'll admit to it." _

_To pick a fight with him meant she had to be feeling better and even though the situation was tense, he reached for her. Taking a chance, he brushed the tips of his fingers along the side of her face and down her arm, stopping to take hold of her hand. He gave it a light squeeze and he saw a change come over her. "I've never lied to you," he said._

_He thought he had her. The way she softened under his touch made him feel certain they'd reached an understanding. He was shocked when she turned to stone again and made her way to the bedroom door._

"_I don't believe in revenge, Jackson."_

_He went after her, grabbing her hand as it reached for the door knob and bringing her to an abrupt halt. She was sounding too much like Bruce Wayne and it angered him that she had swallowed that line of bullshit. Did she really think she could be content knowing that they were still out there, dealing drugs and committing crimes at will with no fear of repercussions unless Bruce **happened** to cross their path at the right time? Did she truly believe she was entitled to nothing more than that?_

"_They didn't throw a rock through your window, Vanessa. You said it yourself; they ruined your life. Men like that don't wake up one morning and decide that working at Burger King is boring so they'll try rape and murder," he began, doing his best to mask the anger growing within him. "I'm surrounded by the criminal element every day. I don't try to hide that from you and I know how this works. Crimes like that; they watched you, they planned it. I'm willing to bet you weren't the first and you probably weren't the last. Do you think Jim showed up in time to save them all?"_

_It broke his heart when she started to cry and tried to shield her eyes. He never understood why she had been the one to feel shame for all that had happened. But painful as it was, he couldn't let up. There were too many things that needed to be said._

"_You say you know what I did, but I know what you're going to do. You're going to hide, deny and lie to your daughter about everything, aren't you?"_

_Vanessa said nothing. Jackson didn't know if she was too chocked up or if she simply had nothing to say. If she denied it, she would be caught in a bold face lie. He remembered that morning in the trailer like it was yesterday. He had to threaten her at knifepoint to get her to admit that Ava had been conceived through rape. She had told him her plan to cover it up; that she would tell Ava she'd actually had feelings for the psychopath. Judging by her reaction, it would seem her plan had not changed._

_He was one hundred percent right on this one._

"_And you'll never talk to anyone about what Crane did to you. You'll bottle it up," he continued in response to her silent tears. "I know what that did to my family, Vanessa. How do you think it's going to work for you?"_

"_I don't know, Jackson. I'm just doing the best I can. I see twelve and thirteen year old girls at Jessica's House everyday and already, they're cynics. They mistrust everyone they meet. I don't want that for her. I want her to be a regular kid with a regular life."_

"_I know you do, Sweetheart," he said, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her to him. "But you can't lie to her."_

_It took a while for her to look him in the eyes again but when she did, he studied her, not knowing what he was looking for; maybe a sign of acceptance, an invitation. Giving up, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers._

"_When the time is right, we'll tell her together," he whispered._

"_And you want us to stay here with you?" she asked._

"_You know I do."_

"_Why?"_

"_You know why," he said, smiling a little._

"_Because you love us?"_

"_Possibly."_

"_I love you, against my better judgment maybe, but it's true."_

"_That emotion isn't entirely one sided," he told her, knowing that the coy routine was getting old fast but not sure of what else to do._

"_Then say it," she demanded, having lost patience with his aloof stance._

"_I can't, Vanessa."_

"_Why?"_

"_It's dangerous."_

"_Dangerous, give me a break," she almost yelled in frustration. "This is ridiculous. You think you're enigmatic, Jackson but you're really just annoying."_

_Pulling away from his embrace, she rushed for the door. Desperation took over and he all but tackled her from behind in an effort to keep her there. Even as she struggled against him, he held her fast, hoping she would calm down if the words he chose were right._

_He whispered in her ear, "Usted significa todo a mí; mi vida, mi mundo, mi amor."_

_He didn't know where those words had come from or what had motivated him to speak to her in Spanish, but there was nothing like a little pressure to draw out a masterly performance. Vanessa turned to him with fresh tears falling from her eyes. Broken by the sight, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands.._

"_Estancia con mí," he added._

_Her hands grasped his wrists and stayed there. She searched his eyes and after what felt like an eternity, she smiled at him. It was the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen and he knew that she had reached her decision._

"_Permaneceremos," she whispered back._

_Jackson needed no further prompting. Words were no longer necessary and as their lips met, he savored the long anticipated moment. This was the first time he'd touched her intimately in over two months and he planned on making the most of it. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he deepened the kiss and pulled her away from that door. She wasn't going to leave him, not now._

_Finding that he wanted more than to simply kiss her lips; that he wanted to taste and touch every last inch of her body, his passion grew. It propelled them backwards and they landed on the bed._

"_No," she said, much to his disappointment._

"_What's wrong? I thought you…"_

"_Get off me, Jackson; please."_

_He rolled to the side albeit reluctantly, wondering what he had done wrong._

"_It's not you," Vanessa said, reading his thoughts; not an amazing feet really, since he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve. "My stomach is still bothering me. I thought it was going to be okay but it hurts to have that extra weight on top of me."_

_She seemed truly disappointed by this turn of events and Jackson, quick thinker that he was, immediately began searching for alternatives._

"_You can be on top," he suggested. It seemed like a no-brainer to his male-driven sex obsessed mind._

"_I don't like being on top," she said with a pout._

"_Why?"_

"_I don't know. I just don't, Jackson," and she could tell by his expression that she owed him a better explanation than that. "I just feel kind of self-conscious and exposed when I'm on top. I like to feel you covering me, your arms wrapped around me. It makes me feel safe." _

_Jackson had to laugh. If she were trying to diffuse the sexual charge in this room, she was doing a lousy job. He liked the response she'd given him very much. It was one hell of a boost to his ego. So much of a boost in fact that he thought she deserved a reward and as always, he was quick to come up with a viable solution._

"_I've been a complete ass these past few months, haven't I?" he asked. "I think I owe you an apology."_

"_Since when did Jackson Rippner apologize for anything?" she responded, eyeing him with suspicion._

"_Since now; a deep, heartfelt apology," he answered, rising from the bed and grasping the elastic waist of her pajama bottoms. "Let me show you how sorry I am."_

_In a single, fluid motion, he removed her pants and underwear, tossing them arbitrarily over his shoulder, lighting up at the way she smiled when he did so. Making up was so much fun and both of them were in a playful mood. She stretched out and made herself comfortable, resting her head on the pillows and pretending to be shy when he made to pry her legs apart. It was a lackadaisical effort on her part. Two gentle kisses to the tops of her bended knees were all that she required before granting him access. His tongue was halfway up her inner thigh when she stopped him, looking as if there were something on her mind; an overwhelming concern._

"_Do you want me to stop?" he asked._

"_No, it's just that…well, you know I've been on antibiotics for while," she responded and the look on her face indicated that he was supposed to know what she meant by that._

_He didn't have a clue._

"_So what?"_

_Vanessa groaned and even in this weak light he could see her cheeks were flushed._

"_I can't believe I'm telling you this," she said as she turned her head to the side, trying to avoid eye contact again. "Sometimes when a woman is on antibiotics, there can be an unpleasant odor, maybe even taste. I don't know. Oh my god; the things I am telling you tonight!"_

"_Well, let's find out together then, shall we?" he asked, heading down south to test the waters, so to speak._

_He nuzzled against her gently, feeling her squirm a little with discomfort._

"_Stop worrying, Vanessa. I'm a big boy, I can handle it."_

"_I'm sorry," she kept repeating as he explored further and he could tell she was preparing herself for rejection._

"_Everything's fine, Sweetheart; it's perfect. In fact, I think I'll stay," he said, giving that second set of lips a tender kiss before he lifted himself up, reached over her head and grabbed onto the firmest pillow he could find._

"_Raise your hips for me," he instructed._

_She did what he asked, looking a little confused when he slid the pillow underneath her lengthwise before telling her to settle back down._

"_Why the pillow?" she asked._

"_In oral sex, it's all about the angles," he joked._

_She shook her head back and forth, giggling in the face of those enlightening words._

"_Allow me to demonstrate," he said with a mischievous grin on his face._

"_You're so…oh!" she cried when he made contact again._

_Realizing how loud she'd just been, she covered her mouth and started to giggle for the second time. Luckily for them, Ava hadn't heard a thing and the evenings festivities could continue._

"_Shh, don't wake her, Vanessa and please try to stop laughing; you'll give me a complex."_

"_Perish the thought," she said in a voice that had grown husky. _

_How he loved the sound of that voice. Those giggles quickly became a thing of the past, replaced with a mixture of heavy sighs and contented moans, neither of those expressions growing loud enough to wake the baby. Part of him wondered if it would be worth having this room sound proofed so he could enjoy those unrestricted cries._

_Stomach pain notwithstanding, there was plenty of enjoyment to be had this evening and he had always considered himself a passionate kisser; whether his talents were showcased above or below the waist was of little consequence to him and he was serious about the pillow, even it was for his benefit as well as hers. He was going to be down here a while and he didn't want to be distracted by neck pain. This way, everything was nice and level._

_She started rocking against him and he decided to intensify the experience, humming as he went on. He could feel her body writhe, and then a hand began to brush through his hair, urging him on. The other hand clawed at the bed, grabbing hold of the fitted sheet and twisting it around her hand. To her, it became an anchor and he knew the moment wouldn't last much longer. _

_Then she stopped. She was still enjoying herself, that was all too obvious, but he knew she was holding back and he wondered why she always chose the strangest moments to become shy._

_He stopped what he was doing just long enough to say, "Don't get bashful on me, Vanessa; let go."_

_Then he felt it – that tell tale flutter and the rhythmic contractions that came after. She threw her head back, took several staggered breaths as he finished her and then fell still. Mission accomplished; she had found her release._

_Licking his lips, he discarded the pillow, tossing it to the floor to lie on top of her unnecessary clothing. _

_She was still breathing heavily when he resumed his place beside her._

"_Side lying," was all she said in that same sultry voice while she tugged at his pants and she didn't need to say it twice. After a little struggling and a few kicks, his lower body was free of clothing as well. He took hold of her leg, lifted it up and over his hip and entered her. Technically, she was the one on top but he wasn't about to bring that up now. She could still hold onto her modesty if she so desired._

_Jackson buried his face in her still damp hair and she rested her head against his shoulder as their arms wrapped around each other in an intimate embrace. The way she moved against him was intense. Every time he pulled out of her, she would clench around him, pulling him back inside; it was maddening._

"_What are you doing to me?" he moaned._

"_Kegels; you're not the only one with talents," she answered and all he could do was groan in response. It had been so long since he'd experienced that particular sensation. How sporting of her to remind him._

_Jackson turned to her, wanting to see her face. Despite the fact it was partially obscured, it was enough. He could see her eyes were shut; her head nestled gently against his shoulder with her body melting into his. Again, it was like she was meant to be there. He couldn't deny the emotion of the moment._

"_I..," he said, stopping when her eyes fluttered open._

_She said nothing, only watched and waited patiently, both of them too far gone to discontinue their movements below the waist. _

_The passion made it hard for him to think._

"_I..," he repeated, looking at her with desperation. Hoping she would help him find the words or give him an out._

"_I know," she said. "I know."_

_Her eyes closed again and he bucked against her wildly three more times before he too found his release. Jackson reached down and pulled the covers over their half naked bodies, enjoying the feeling as he lingered inside of her while he kissed those soft lips. Finally, he left the confines of her body, content to remain locked in her embrace._

"_I love you too," she said before they drifted off to sleep._

_He awoke painfully early the next morning with the sun shining in his face. He covered his eyes and silently cursed himself for not closing the drapes. Even on the tenth floor, they weren't safe from prying eyes. You could never know who might be watching. Jackson slipped out of bed and quickly remedied the situation, taking the time to steal a glance at Vanessa before he dove under the covers._

_Tom was right; refusing to utter those three little words wouldn't guarantee her safety. Anyone in their right mind could tell by the way he looked at her and the way they touched, that she was more to him than some bimbo with a brat in tow. _

_If precautions would need to be taken to ensure her and Ava's safety regardless, why not just admit that he loved her? What was holding him back?_

"_All in due time", he thought as he climbed into bed. Secretly he was scared to death that, like all good things in his life, she would be taken away._

_Right now, things were perfect._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nothing could be worse than this; running through the woods with an unknown number of presumably armed men and women on dirt bikes at his back. To make matters worse he had to be mindful not to step in the mud or tear his clothing in fear of ruining his disguise.

"Jesus Christ, what a pain in the ass," he cursed as he navigated the twists and turns of that wooded area with Tom at his side.

According to his estimations, it had all started less than an hour after Ava had gone back into the building but he didn't know for sure. Sometime during the night, his watch had died; he hoped that wasn't a bad omen.

Since she had left they had been making their way around the side of that massive structure; the journey went about painstakingly slow when every snapping twig and wind blown leaf sent the two of them into hiding.

And the crows were incessant, following them everywhere they went and chattering away as if issuing a warning to their master.

"That's creepy," Tom said, giving voice to Jackson's inner thoughts. It was dangerous to talk; it could give them away, but it was nice to hear something other than the cackling of those wicked creatures.

They came to a partial clearing and Jackson looked down at the office park. He could see the first of many doors lining the side of the building – each one a vision of beauty, providing them with a potential entrance. All they had to do was get there.

So certain was he that Crane's attack would be covert that he almost dismissed the sound of roaring motors altogether, figuring it was a bunch of teenagers on a joy ride.

He should be so lucky.

"Get off the path, hide," Jackson said and off they went, scurrying back into the bushes like a couple of frightened chipmunks.

Why bikes, he wondered, why be so obvious? Then he saw the first bike weave to the left, off the trail and into the woods and he knew. A second bike moved to the right, while the third continued down the path. He understood what was happening and the sound of more bikes approaching from the opposite end of the trail told him that this was a dragnet and if he didn't make a plan, he'd be caught in it.

Three on one side and he assumed there had to be three on the other; six in total. They could handle that. But when he looked back at the building, he saw another man dressed in black, patrolling the doors. Strangely enough, Jackson didn't spot a weapon but assumed the man must have something at his disposal. Being under Crane's employ, who knew what it might be.

"Let's move away from the doors, go deeper into the woods for now," Jackson said, finding the decision to retreat about as pleasant as a kick in the stomach.

They moved quickly across the path, hearing the bikes as they grew closer and knowing time was of the essence. Jackson had hoped they would make it to cover without being seen but the sound of a man yelling, "There he is!" told him his presence had not gone undetected. His only comfort came from the fact that the man had yelled 'he' instead of 'them'. Apparently, they hadn't seen Tom.

The roar of engines filled the air as the riders followed in active pursuit, appetites now wet by the mere sight of their prey. With Tom in the lead, Jackson disappeared into the underbrush and found himself at the base of what seemed to be a sixty degree slope.

"Good luck," Jackson laughed as even he had difficulty making his way up the precipitous incline. It must have rained a few days earlier, not that he could remember. The superficial layer of leaves was dry and crunched under his step but the layers beneath were damp and in various stages of decay. As a result, for every three feet they progressed, it would seem they slide one foot back. There was no way they'd be able to follow him and Tom directly. They would have to give chase on foot or find friendlier terrain.

Sure enough the sound of spinning wheels and angry words echoed from behind as they extended their lead to a comfortable distance.

A plan, he needed to make a plan. He had counted six people all together. He hadn't had time to ascertain their genders but it didn't matter, really; six against two, plus the guard at the door. They would have to take them all out silently, keep Tom's presence hidden, if possible and prevent any calls for assistance. It was a tall order but if he could stop for a second and catch his breath, he knew he would find a way.

Jackson nearly tripped over and dismissed his salvation before it all came together. Partially rotten and hidden under leaves and moss like everything else out here, it was perfection. He would have kissed it if he had the time, for this inanimate object, when covered with pine needles and the like, vanished completely. It was a stunning role reversal with Jackson's methods becoming more clandestine and Crane being the more ostentatious of the two.

"Hurry, help me move this thing," and his friend didn't hesitate, not for a second. Giving up his lead he turned and ran back, helping Jackson free the dead wood from the earth and carrying it the rest of the way up the hill.

When they had first grasped the dead wood, the outer coating had fallen to pieces in their bare hands. Jackson worried that the thing was rotten to the core and useless. As he peeled the decayed layers away one by one, he wasn't feeling optimistic but thankfully, he found the underlying layers solid.

"Thank God," Tom said in relief.

"Yeah, it'll work," Jackson responded, giving the log a final kick before they went about concealing it.

When they finished, they returned to the relative safety of their hiding spot, fully aware that people must be pursuing them on foot and that they couldn't be far behind.

"Do you think Ava had a change of heart and sold you out?" Tom asked.

"No," he answered. "He probably came to his own conclusions."

The ramifications of what that meant for Vanessa and Ava ate at him. Crane wasn't like him; he didn't give a damn if someone lied to him or not – as long as he _knew _they were lying. Ava had out foxed him. Crane had believed and possibly trusted her at one point, having faith in something as flimsy as a genetic bond; the fact that he was actively searching for Jackson meant he had uncovered the truth, one way or another and Jackson could only pray that Crane would show restraint and resist the urge to be a _strict_ father.

Halfheartedly, he looked at his cell phone. It was useless, just like his watch.

By the time his mind had stopped racing and he began to realize the scope of Crane's plan, though he still wasn't sure exactly what that plan was, his signal had conked out. He wondered if it were merely an unfortunate twist of fate or if some higher form of technology had a hand in it. Regardless, he couldn't call for help or issue any warnings even it he wanted to. Strangely enough, he thought of Bruce and Jim. There was no love lost between them but they didn't deserve to be blindsided.

As usual, there was no time to dwell on such matters. There was simply no time to think, in general and he knew that was a dangerous thing. He'd been running almost non stop since yesterday and it didn't seem that would ever change.

Three riders were approaching from the front and judging from their speed, they hadn't spied Jackson's clever trap. For a moment, the thought crossed his mind that maybe Crane had left traps of his own and he should make an effort to be more mindful of his surroundings, but that consideration faded as well; falling to the wayside as he removed his suit coat and tie in preparation of things to come. Sensing that a physical confrontation was inevitable he didn't want any loose fabric interfering with his movement.

"Stay where you are. They don't seem to know that you're here. Let's keep it that way for as long as possible," Jackson told his friend as he gripped his K-Bar.

Tom seemed none too happy about being asked to hide in the woods, guarding Jackson's clothing while he took care of business, but he had also known Jackson long enough to realize there was no point in arguing.

"Okay, but if you're in a jam…,"

"Then fire away; just make sure the silencer is in place."

They said nothing more, crouching in the bushes and waiting together. Jackson noted that he could hear rushing water in the background. They must be closer to the River Liberty than he thought.

"Here they come, cross your fingers," Tom whispered.

Jackson held his breath and found he had actually done what Tom suggested, superstitious fool that he was. Luck was on their side, partially at least. The first two riders, a man and a woman, were so busy searching for him that they all but ignored the path ahead. When their bikes stopped abruptly, they did not. The two of them flew through the air, coming in for a hard landing on the unforgiving, not to mention cold ground. Neither one of them made any effort to get up, either too injured or just plain unconscious.

The third bike, the one who had lagged behind was not so easy. It came to a screeching halt and managed to avoid the trap entirely. His movements concealed by the idling of a solitary engine, Jackson moved in, approaching this young man, who appeared to be in his early twenties, like a predator.

The boy was an impatient fool. Getting off his bike, it looked as though he were spinning in circles as he tried to watch his back from every conceivable angle at the exact same time, never once calling to his friends or finding an adequate place to make a stand; projecting bravery, when he was probably scared shitless.

Jackson hung back and waited for the right moment. It came when the youth heard his friends shouting, "Did you get him?" in response to the silence. From the volume of their voices, they were less then ten seconds from view, he would have to act fast. Jackson came up from behind and drove the blade of his weapon through the first and second cervical vertebra of this man's neck. It was a quick death, the boy didn't make a sound and when Jackson finished with him and allowed his body to crumple to the ground, he approached his two unconscious colleagues and made certain they suffered the same fate. He thought it a bit low class to do such a thing while they were in an unconscious state but someone else he knew had set a similar precedent and he didn't need them waking up and coming back to bite him in the ass.

Three lives taken in less than ten seconds and now he was back in hiding, slipping his coat on, wiping the blood from his knife and wondering if he'd just set a personal record.

Just when he started to feel over confident, that he and Tom could handle this all on their own, things started to backfire.

The rest of the group failed to reach the crest of the hill when their question had gone unanswered, ruining Jackson's vision of Tom picking them off one by one as they poked their little heads up like a bunch of prairie dogs. Right now, things were at a standstill.

"Rippner, I know you're close. Time to come out and play," an extremely familiar female voice called.

"It can't be," he thought, wondering how deep the lies and deception could possibly go and how they could have all remained blind to it.

It was Veronica, his semi-girlfriend of more than three years. The same woman Ava had caught him with outside his apartment, making out like a couple of teenagers and the same woman he had shared a bed with two nights ago.

Veronica; even her name began with the same letter. She looked so much like Vanessa that the first time he had laid eyes on her, he had found it hard to breathe. It was probably the same way Vanessa had felt when she saw his face for the first time in that department store bathroom; shock and disbelief that two people, completely unrelated, could be carbon copies of each other.

She had arrived on the arm of another man but once she became of aware of his eyes on her, she had quickly given her date the cold shoulder.

She went home with him that same evening and things had gotten hot and heavy the second they were behind closed doors. It was he that suggested their first time be in the shower. Veronica seemed to think he was being adventurous but the truth was she was wearing too much make-up and perfume. Her hair was pulled back and sprayed so heavily it felt like a helmet and he couldn't stand to see Vanessa, no Veronica, her name was Veronica, parading around this way.

Into the water they had gone and when they had finished in that room and she lay naked on his bed with her fresh face and wet hair, he had taken her again. She was of the passionate variety, moaning loudly and raking her nails down his back. He stopped her, pinning her arms above her head and kissing her gently to keep her silent.

"Shh, don't talk, Sweetheart. I, I just want to look at you," he had said.

Thinking him a helpless romantic, she had quieted down and he felt blessed. All these years he thought he had found a replacement for the friend who should have remained his lover. It was too good to be true.

"Let me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with you," she began to sing.

Jackson's lips curled and his grip on the knife tightened but he remained silent and stoic even in the presence of her shameless ridicule.

"Come on, Jack; don't you want to see your Angel?"

_Heartless bitch – he'd cut her throat when he got the chance._

"Still shy, huh? Try this."

They waited for some kind of grand display but nothing happened, or so he thought. They wasted precious seconds while he and Tom glanced around trying to locate signs of this veiled threat. At first he saw it only in the distance, in the shaded portions of woods where the thick branches of oak and pine blocked any and all light. Tiny specks of red, everywhere and as his eyes followed them closer; he noticed that he and Tom were practically sitting on one.

It made a pulsing sound, started to flash and without a word, he and Tom stood up and ran in opposite directions.

Jackson was looking down when the first charge ignited and even though he never glanced at it directly, he was blinded by the flash of light. Sightless and lost, he kept on running, coming to a halt when he heard the sound of silenced gun shots.

_Tom_

Jackson wondered if he'd been blinded as well. Could he see his target or was he firing at random? There was no way to know for sure what was happening. It was classic Crane; low blow after low blow and he never let you fight back.

"It's about time you stopped. You were going in circles anyway," Veronica said.

She sounded as though she were only partially focused on him as she spoke.

"Rub your eyes, it helps."

"How would you know?" he asked his one time paramour whose eyes were concealed by heavily tinted sunglasses. "Were you his guinea pig?"

"You must have figured out by now that I'm far more valuable than that. No, this little weapon was a joint effort. When Jon and Mr. Napier put their heads together, well, it's a kind of magic," she answered, appearing on the verge of orgasm just speaking of the two men. It sickened him.

She was a lunatic, ending her life would be an act of compassion but in order to do that, he needed to get to that weapon. The one she held in both her hands, level with his chest. It vaguely resembled a gun, probably some kind of ionic blaster that would turn him to jelly in a single shot. What happened to the days when people only brought guns and knives to a fight? Back then, things had been civilized.

"One, two…three bodies in the water; did you bring a little helper, Jack?"

When her eyes were off him, he lunged. Her reflexes however, were quicker than he had given her credit for.

"Don't do it, lover. This gun is Crane's design, one hundred percent," she warned, crinkling her nose. "You don't want me to shoot you with this thing. It makes a big old mess."

He was caught and in his frustration, he threw his hands in the air and turned his back on her. They were so close; they had been doing so well. Now Tom was floating out to sea, never to be seen again and here he was, about to be reunited with Vanessa and Ava, though not in the way he'd intended.

"Why, Roni? You don't know them. I never did anything to you. Why would you do this?" he asked.

"Money, sex and power; what else? I don't give a damn about you, your girlfriend or that little brat, but anything for Jonathan. He and I have formed a particularly close relationship over the years if you get my meaning."

"Yes, I do," he said, turning towards her. "You're a whore; isn't that right? You bounce from my bed to his and all the while both of us pretend you're someone else. Someone you could never hope to be. You are pathetic, Veronica. Does your angelic boyfriend even give you the time of day now that he's got what he wants?

"Spare me the ridicule, Jack. Ours is a relationship of convenience and I assure you, Scarecrow is not my only concern. Good thing too. If I actually loved him, I'd be heartbroken right now and poor little Vanessa – he hasn't let her out of bed since they got here."

"What do you mean by that?"

She said nothing in response. The arrogant wench bit her lip and smiled just like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"Ask me nice," she finally requested and he couldn't help but lunge for her again, even if he could do little more than rattle her nerves.

"Stop doing that, Jack. Don't make me ruin that pretty face."

"How do you live with yourself?" he asked.

"The money helps, you know that," she said. "Just cool your heels for a second. He asked me to give him a call when I found you and you know me, I always deliver. That's why I'm the favorite."

She brought the phone to her ear and he felt his heart racing with anticipation. After fifteen years, the thought of hearing Crane's voice gave him chills. What was he afraid of?

"Jonathan…Jon?" Veronica asked, both of them taken aback by the commotion heard on the other end of the line. Angry screams and wordless cries, pure rage; no, something wasn't right. He could feel it in his soul and his whole body began to tremble in response.

"Veronica?" he heard Crane ask when he finally came to the phone.

"What's going on over there, Jonathan?"

Unable to hear the conversation, Jackson was forced to wait. He watched Veronica intently, searching her facial expressions and tone of voice for clues.

He didn't like what he saw.

"Ah, okay," she said.

She set the phone down, never taking her eyes off him and then backed away.

"He wants to talk to you, Jack."

_Why did she look so disturbed?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Okay, to start off, let's talk about the Spanish. It's not my first language, not even my second, so forgive me if it's not perfect. I crossed checked it with every online translator I could find and it seems consistent. My fingers are crossed.

For those of you who are wondering, Jackson says, "You mean everything to me; my life, my world, my love," and "Stay with me."

Vanessa tells him that she and Ava will stay.

I could have written it in English, but I liked this better; sounds down right romantic if you ask me.

This was a graphic chapter and a sign of things to come. I'm not trying to offend. It's only a matter of me pushing myself, trying to break past my inhibitions and to put it frankly, my next chapter scares me

Thanks to emptyvoices for her constant support and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review.

Zzee – I wrote a graphic love scene and didn't use the term 'velvety well', not even once. Are you proud?


	17. Chapter 16

"_Okay, what's wrong?" Uncle Jack asked as they made their way through the crowd._

_To every other passerby Ava was a typical sullen teenager dressed in black with her head hung low for added effect. To her uncle however, she was an open book. Barely speaking, avoiding eye contact, he knew it was more than teenage angst that was troubling her. She was hiding, not wishing to be seen._

"_Nothing," she lied, feeling ashamed to admit that as time went on, going out in public had become more and more difficult._

_It started six months ago as a whisper in a crowded grocery store; the harsh utterance of a fellow schoolmate whom she hardly knew._

"_Scarecrow."_

_Thank God her mother had not heard it and Ava turned her head, pretending she had neither seen nor heard the girl behind that cruel remark. Regardless, the word had sunk in and done its damage. It seemed that once she reached the age of fourteen the protective shroud of childhood had been lifted. The time had come when adults had deemed her old enough to fend for herself and they had stopped interceding on her behalf when the name calling began. Sometimes, more and more often, they would join in and those were the times when she truly believed in her fathers' assessment that there was no good left in the world._

_When that had happened for the first time, when an adult had seen fit to ridicule her, she had been alone and had turned to the thirty-something culprit, promptly telling him to go fuck himself. Since then she had developed a thick skin and with her father's guidance she had learned to shed hateful words with ease. The insults in and of themselves didn't bother her anymore as long as her mother wasn't privy to it and thankfully, she never was. Sometimes Ava wondered what if would be like if she didn't have her mother and Uncle Jack in her life. To only see the dark side of humanity like her father had. Those were the times when she understood him._

_But turning into a shadow had been easy and it was for the best. If Uncle Jack found out about her problems he would more than likely go on a rampage, single handedly trying to kick the ass of every man, woman and child in the city and if she were faced with her mother's tears, her heart would break. Yes, it was for the best._

_And that was why public appearances and the threat of civic criticisms that went along with them proved so nerve wracking._

_Now they were at the winter carnival, no doubt surrounded by people she knew or at the very least, people who knew her. It was unsettling and she couldn't hide the fact that she did not want to be here._

_Uncle Jack could see that clear as day._

"_I wasn't born yesterday, Angel. Talk to me."_

"_You wouldn't understand."_

"_Try me."_

"_I want to talk to mom," Ava responded, trying to stall for time._

"_Your mother is in New York until tomorrow afternoon and you've obviously got something on your mind," he began and brought their leisurely stroll to a halt as he turned to face her head on. "You've been acting…distant, that's the only word I can think of to describe it. What's going on?"_

_Ava was stuck. With her mother at a fund raiser for Jessica's House for the next twenty four hours and her uncle's uncanny ability to read her mind, she was faced with two options; tell the truth or think of an awfully convincing lie._

_But she wanted to answer him truthfully. She wanted to get the weight off her shoulders and tell him everything that had been going on. The letters, the hell that was high school and everything else she could think of. It was too much to ask that she shoulder all these burdens alone._

_Taking a deep breath, she met his expectant stare. "Uncle Jack, I've been…," she started before she noticed a blond man with a beer in his hand stepping away from the concession stand and moving toward her. He gave a polite smile when their eyes met but something about him made her feel ill at ease. When he passed by and said nothing, she berated herself for being so on edge and judgmental. _

_And just as she thought she was safe, he turned to her, yelled 'Look everybody, it's the Scarecrow!" and darted into the crowd before she or her uncle could respond. People stared, some whispered and Ava knew that the day was ruined._

"_I just want to go home," she said softly._

_Ava wasn't sure Uncle Jack had heard her with the way he kept staring into the crowd watching that man as he walked away. From his profile, she could see that little muscle in his jaw that always protruded when he was angry._

"_Please, can we just go home," she begged._

_He looked to her; the anger melted away, replaced with sadness and understanding as he pieced it all together. Childish taunts were hard enough, but when adults saw fit to participate, life was hell and he knew it._

"_No," he answered._

"_No?"_

"_We're not going home. You're going to stay here with me and we're going to have a great time. No drunken asshole will change that," he insisted and took hold of her hand, pulling her into the crowd and challenging all those who looked her way with a menacing gaze._

"_Why don't you sit over there," he said, pointing in the direction of a reasonably empty area beneath a large pine tree. "I'll get us some hot chocolate and meet you there in a few minutes."_

_Ava made her way towards the tree as instructed, looking back at her uncle once only to find him fishing through his wallet as he approached the concession stand. Then she went on, found a comfortable spot for them to watch the parade, laid out their blanket and waited._

_Five minutes must have passed and he didn't come back. When she stood and studied the long lines of people waiting for their warm food and hot drinks, she couldn't find him. Having no idea where he could have gone, she went back to where he had been and that ultimately led her behind the concession stand and straight to the edge of the woods._

_Ten short steps and the world changed. Things were quiet ahead, nothing but the roar of the crowd behind and she started to back up realizing that it was crazy to be out here alone. He had probably gone in search of another stand, one with shorter lines or a bathroom. She was on the verge of turning back when she could have sworn she heard his voice, not behind but in front of her. Looking in all directions, she saw no one else out here, so she ventured forward until she came to a clearing. _

_Sure enough, there was Uncle Jack but he wasn't alone. Pressed against the tree with tears in his eyes and a conspicuous wet spot trailing down the front of his pants, was the man who had dared call her, Scarecrow. Uncle Jack's hands were wrapped around his throat and his face loomed less than two inches from that unfortunate young man's. She couldn't hear the words completely but she could feel the tone of her uncle's voice and she almost felt sorry for the guy…almost._

"_Don't look at her, don't talk to her," she managed to glean from the conversation before the cheer of the crowd drowned him out and she ducked down just in time to avoid his backward glance._

"_I'm sorry," the blond man kept hollering in a high-pitched voice._

_Ava knew she should be horrified by all this. Her mother would be; violence didn't solve anything and all that crap, but she had to admit, she was enjoying this. She loved the fact that Uncle Jack was standing up for her and she cracked a smile thinking about what it would be like if once, just once, she could bring her uncle to one of her after school meetings rather than her mother._

_But for now, she was content to watch as Uncle Jack slackened his grip on the man's neck and sent him tumbling to the ground. Searching around, he picked up the man's cup of beer and spilled what was left of it down the front of the poor saps pants._

"_Here, tell your friends you spilled your beer, not that you pissed yourself."_

_Ava stifled another laugh, which would have been masked by the roar of the crowd even if it had escaped her lips, almost as if Uncle Jack's punishment had its own laugh track._

_Knowing it was over, she turned and ran back to her designated spot beneath that pine tree and waited happily. He came back five minutes later, complaining of long lines and high prices as he sat beside her and handed her a cup of hot chocolate._

"_Thanks, Uncle Jack," she said and that statement carried more weight than he would ever know._

_Her head came to rest on his shoulder and he put his arm around her. If only for that day, she felt normal again - felt safe in the knowledge that if her father couldn't or wouldn't be here, she had her uncle to rely on; the one who would always be there to protect her_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ava woke to the sounds of a heated argument and an overwhelming feeling of dread. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or how she had wound up in this room and this bed. Would that she were home and all she had just experienced was nothing more than some bad dream, but as her eyes adjusted and the last remnants of sleep left her, reality began to set in.

Again, she saw the faint light filtering in through the cracks in the covered windows and she remembered everything; what her father had said, the way the darkness had come to life, surrounding her and swallowing her whole. It was then she understood only through his intervention and nothing else, did she still live and breathe.

"Sunday night would be pointless, we need the Monday morning commute," she heard her father yell as she rose from the bed. The shock and closeness of his voice caused her to freeze in place, wondering if he was heading towards her room.

He came no closer and when she was confident there would be no unwanted visitors, Ava crept to the door and opened it just enough so that she could get a clear glimpse of the lab and the hallway beyond. What she saw made her cringe and if she hadn't seen that face before she would have screamed.

"I'm not put off by some lovesick fool running through the woods on a suicide mission. You shouldn't be either," her father said.

The lovesick fool was a direct reference to her Uncle Jack and she remembered the events that had triggered her father's rage. In his mind, she had done the unforgivable; she had betrayed him, had almost disrupted his plans. But despite her father's anger and the punishment she had already received, Ava didn't fear for her life. She would be allowed to live, that would be her punishment, but not her uncle. There were so many of them out there, plenty to spare – those people in the warehouse with their blank stares and black vests were searching for him at this very moment and it sickened her to think that he was out there alone.

The morning commute, the vests? He had told her he wanted to bring the whole of Gotham down, was this how he planned to do it? It seemed too simplistic for a man like him, there had to be more to it than that. Ava waited and listened intently in the hopes that this argument would die down and some useful information might be overheard.

"Unless he brought help," the grinning man that Ava knew had to be the infamous Joker snickered.

"He had no time. They're hunting him down as we speak. I'm asking you for patience. I can bring this under control," her father pleaded.

Though it was difficult to look at that man and his demonic grin, Ava studied him and watched him yield in the face of her father's reassurances.

"You have one hour," he said and when he looked up suddenly, their eyes locked.

Strangely enough, he didn't give her away, just burst into laughter and sauntered off without a care in the world.

Her father stood there with his back to her and not wanting to take any chances she shut the door and collapsed against it. Too drained to spare the tears, Ava stared off into space wondering what could be done. Minutes passed until she reached her inevitable conclusion; her mother would have to be left behind. There was simply no other way and that _did_ make her cry. But as she approached the window feeling desperation and distress, she did not feel guilt. If her mother were with her now, awake and able to talk, Ava knew she would have told her to run.

This was not a defeat, she promised.

Armed with that understanding, Ava approached the window and inspected some of the panels. Whoever had boarded them over had done a lackluster job and they lifted on their own in several places. She found a gap large enough to squeeze her hand under and began to pull, cringing when the board groaned in protest. It would be slow going and the need to be silent would only compound that fact, but it could be done and when the board was lifted away, there would be nothing but glass beneath. Feeling confident, she tugged again, jostling the board back and forth quietly as she did so and watched as the nails pulled away from the window frame.

"Don't you understand that noise travels, you fool?"

The voice startled her and she spun around unable to hide her fault.

"I…I," she sputtered, trying to explain her actions away as nothing more than an innocent gesture.

"Spare me the lies, Ava," he said as he approached. He kept a respectable distance however. After her abilities as a fighter had been showcased, he had to and when she took a challenging step toward him, he flinched.

"You're a coward," she taunted and took a step closer.

He flashed that silver canister, pointed it directly at her as a stern warning and she backed off, remembering what it had been like to be a prisoner to her own fears and never wanting to undergo that experience again.

"And would you describe yourself as fearless?" he challenged.

Refusing to answer the question, she looked over his shoulder, becoming fixated on the open door behind him. He followed her eyes and moved to shut her in. Taking action before he had the chance Ava rushed toward him. She was fully aware that he would try to stop her and that the results would be catastrophic if he did but hoped her momentum coupled with a surge of adrenalin would give her the upper hand. It did, to an extent, meaning that when he grabbed her she was able to twist and almost break away before he shoved her against the adjacent wall.

"You don't need to run from me, Ava. I'm not angry with you."

"Let me go," she demanded, still struggling against him and not believing his lies.

"I'm telling you the truth. I've come to understand what motivates you to act this way."

"Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you."

"This is a case of simple adolescence," he began, stroking the side of her face to prevent her from turning away. "You're changing, developing and it's normal for you to act out."

"Act out? You're crazy," she yelled before she noticed that during this conversation, he had maneuvered them into the corner, effectively trapping her. When she realized what he'd done, her struggles increased, accompanied by wordless grunts of frustration.

"I don't want to fight with you, Ava. You're my daughter," he said, his soothing words betrayed by his increasingly brazen grip. He was no longer content with running the tips of his fingers along her face. He was cupping the side of her head now, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, wanting more. "We should love each other."

"Please let us go."

"I can't do that. We're a family."

His hand drifted further backwards; the grip becoming possessive, clawing at the back of her neck and she began to turn her head as he leaned in closer. "Please stop, you're hurting me," she pleaded.

"Don't look away. I'm not trying to hurt you," he said softly as his lips lingered less than an inch from hers.

Ava braced herself, prepared for whatever horrors awaited, and was surprised when his lips gently touched her cheek before he pulled away. She wondered if she was off the hook and it seemed as though she was. She remained plastered to the wall thinking it couldn't possibly be true, but when he turned his back to her and motioned for her to follow him; she complied, breathing a tiny sigh of relief.

"We might have to leave earlier than expected, Ava. It's time to rouse your mother."

And that prompted another sigh of relief. She was already formulating an escape plan, one that included her mother when he grabbed her again, catching her off guard. His hands entwined in her hair, he pressed his lips to hers in a savage kiss and she pushed against him, screaming.

"Stop!"

He ignored the plea, initiating another kiss even as he drove her backwards toward the bed. She wouldn't lie there, not with him – this demented trickster – and to prove that point, she drove her fist into his stomach finding a small measure of comfort when he grunted and broke away.

He stood in the corner, hunched over and eyed her hungrily like an animal about to pounce. But there was something else. What was it she saw in his eyes; a moment's hesitation, the notion that he had gone too far?

"No, daddy," she pleaded, hoping to reinforce those misgivings.

"You have a higher purpose," he snarled and came for her.

This time she was better prepared. The street fighter in her saw fit to grab his hand and bite deep into the pad of flesh between his thumb and index finder, drawing his blood and his screams.

He rolled away from her while clutching his injured hand and she wasted no time running through the door. Ava kept going, daring to look over her shoulder only when she heard nothing behind her. When she turned, she saw him. He wasn't chasing her as she expected. He was standing in the hall, just outside her mother's room and he flashed a calculating smile before he stepped inside. Ava could hear him in the there, rifling through a drawers and cabinets and then there was more silence.

Running would be the smart thing. It was what she wanted to do but the thought of leaving her mother to the whims of that monster held her frozen in place. Her thoughts began to race, considering the torture that awaited her mother if she didn't return and finally, she could stand it no longer.

Ava went back and found him standing by her mother's bed watching her sleep while he held a scalpel in his hand. At first glance, he appeared calm but as she drew nearer she could hear his rapid breathing and each time he exhaled, that knife would drift closer to her mother's sleeping form. Ava could hear the heart rate monitor tapping out a rapid beat and could almost see the fear emanating from the unconscious woman.

"Please, whatever you want, I'll give it to you," she said, choking on those words and what they implied. "Just leave her alone."

He looked over his shoulder and grimaced. "I want respect. I want compliance. Is that too much to ask?" he yelled, driving the scalpel into her mother's hand and twisting it.

Ava lunged at him and he was ready, grabbing her and using her force to drive her into the wall. She looked past him when they collided with that structure; her focus directed only at the blade protruding from her mother's hand and the blood that seeped from the wound, staining the white sheet crimson.

"You…," she screamed, unable to find the right words to express her rage.

"She feels everything, Ava. I've seen to that. The sting of a knife, my intimate touch when you're sleeping…,"

"No…you wouldn't do that," she deduced. He was only trying to promote her anger; she had to stay calm, think clearly. Her mother was the perfect captive audience but she didn't think he would take such an extreme step; preferring the conscious over the comatose.

"You're right; she's a corpse more or less," he said as he pressed closer. "Besides, she and I have already played that game."

Try as she might, she had no words for this man, nothing that could adequately describe the fear and the hate. Instead, Ava grappled with the monster, the one her mother and Uncle Jack had tried so hard to shield her against, trying to work her arms free as she kicked his shins.

Ava had a vision of her mother all those years ago, torn apart by her fathers' counsel and she could understand why she had done what she did. Simply knowing that the rage she felt when their eyes locked was a trait they both shared was enough to break her; further details would have been overwhelming and she screamed in his ear, a particularly high pitched shriek that rattled his ear drums and made him wince. It was the unexpected ringing of a cell phone that momentarily halted their battle. Using the whole of his body weight to pin her against the wall, he thought it would be enough to hold her at bay while he took the call.

In a move that caught him entirely off guard, she snatched the phone from his hand, never once thinking that the person on the other end of the line would be of any help to her. It was safe to say that one of her father's business associates, employees, followers, whatever they were called had something on their mind that was of no concern to her but if she had the means to make a phone call – that would change everything.

He knew it and he attacked in a violent rage, showing no mercy as his fist made contact with her jaw and she felt her teeth rattle. The pain had not even fully registered when he was at her again; this time the blow landing just below her right eye. Her vision blurred and two images of her father danced in front of her before she went down. A wave of nausea took her and halted her screams but not his. He continued to berate her as she curled into a protective ball at the foot of her mothers' bed. Certain he would kill her but unable to fully comprehend the matter and make a plan, she waited.

The brutal attack lasted all of fifteen seconds but in that time, the damage had been done. Ava stayed there unmoving. There was a delay before she gradually became aware of what had happened and her vision began to clear. The pain coursed through her body; her face, her back, which had absorbed his repeated kicks when she had fallen out of arms reach, every spot that had received his 'tough love'. Too dazed and frightened to survey the damage he had done, she couldn't bring her hands to her face; that apprehension made even more intense by the blood she saw dripping from her father's knuckles as he stood over her panting, and she wondered if that blood was hers, his, or a mixture of the two.

"Jonathan…Jon!" a voice called, snapping her father out of this irate fugue and he grabbed the phone from her fragile grasp.

"Veronica?" he asked.

"What's going on over there?"

"You have him. You wouldn't be calling otherwise," was all he said to the caller and he spent a second or two listening before he added. "I want to talk to him."

Ava watched as her father hung on the line, waiting expectantly until a smile graced his face. "You're there, aren't you, Mr. Rippner? It's alright; I don't need you to speak."

They had found him. They had found Uncle Jack and now the situation was truly hopeless. Ava felt her chest constricting and knew the pain was not caused by a _physical_ injury. No one else knew where they were and no one knew what was about to happen. Come tomorrow morning, they would all disappear under a cloud of white smoke, never to be seen again and all she could see for the future was a life spent with this maniac; he had all of them now. She closed her eyes, silent in her misery because openly displaying her emotions would bring about her father's delight.

"All this time I've waited to talk to you. I even devised a clever speech to make sure I said all I needed to say. It was a waste," her father said as he caught his breath. "I only need you to _listen,_ to know."

He threw the phone in her mother's direction and it landed on her stomach, inches from her open hand and when he noticed that, he laughed at the absurdity before he plucked the scalpel from her body.

"This is what I have to do," he said with regret, but when he turned toward Ava his eyes gleamed so bright that she could scarcely see the colored iris, only black pupils set against a base of white.

Ava turned away from him, summoned her strength and tried to rise, placing a bloody hand on the tile floor and slipping under its unsteady grip. When her face came to rest on the floor again, she moaned and did the only other thing she could think of. Relaxing her entire body she feigned unconsciousness and when he tapped her with his foot before rolling her onto her back, she offered no complaints or resistance. Even when the scalpel tore through her shirt and she felt his hand on her waist and heard a stuttering exhalation, she didn't give herself away. If he wanted or needed others to listen, she would give him silence, nothing more.

"You have beautiful skin, Ava. Not as dark as your mother's but that's probably my fault," he laughed. "And it's safe to say that your male classmates would want to do far more than bully you in six months time."

A finger traced across the tips of her eyelashes followed by another stuttering breath; _keep your eyes shut_.

"I know you're awake," he whispered and pressed his lips to hers. It forced her out. She railed against him, screaming and clawing in an effort to get him away.

"Scream louder, Ava. Scream for him so that he'll know the hurt he caused."

_The hurt **he** caused?_

"No, daddy."

"I want him to know," her father said in a strangled voice as he flattened her hand and pressed the blade of the scalpel, still wet with her mother's blood against her palm. "Scream for him or I will make you scream."

"No!" she insisted and without another word, the blade tore through her flesh.

The burning of the blade; it wasn't what she expected and with her fathers' hungry eyes and his weight pressed against her, she did scream. She screamed for the one man in her piecemeal family she knew would do anything to protect her; the one she had stupidly demonized just one day before.

"Uncle Jack!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Note: As always, thanks to emptyvoices for reviewing my chapters and being a wonderful sounding board.**

**Thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review. It's much appreciated.**

**This was a tough chapter to write, which is why it took me three weeks! I don't condone child abuse – I didn't enjoy writing about it but unfortunately, children are not exempt from violence and I see no reason why Crane would show restraint at this point. **

**The next chapter will be from Jackson's POV. He'll go berserk and Ava will find some righteous anger of her own.**


	18. Chapter 17

"_Oh, you startled me," she said when she turned from the kitchen sink and found him standing in the doorway, watching her. "Why the long face?"_

_It had been four months. Four wonderful months of waking up next to her in the morning and coming home to her at night; but even after all this time, when she would turn and find him standing behind her or if he caught her by surprise, she would flinch. He didn't know if that would ever stop. _

"_I remind you of him, don't I?" he asked, though that wasn't the reason for his glum expression._

"_Sometimes," she answered honestly, "but in looks only."_

"_So what should I do, Vanessa, have plastic surgery, alter my appearance?" he asked, unable to hide the pain and aggravation in his voice; taking the stress of his job out on her without fully realizing it. "Would that make you happy?" _

"_No, Jackson."_

_And that was all she said, sauntering toward him with a pout on her face, so in tune with his feelings at this point that she could sense his anger was misplaced. She gently pushed him backwards until his knees collided with a chair and he sat down abruptly, the breath catching in his throat when she straddled him. Feeling playful are we?_

_Any other night he would have welcomed it, would have encouraged it, but the horrible scene he'd just witnessed and had in fact orchestrated had left him feeling anything but randy. It had left him feeling introspective and for the first time, he had really stopped and given some thought to their relationship as a whole. It was selfish, dangerous, doomed to fail._

"_This isn't fair to either of us. We can't..," he began before her index finger skimming across his lower lip halted the words. Gently, she kissed him on the side of his mouth._

"_What was that for?" he asked._

"_The differences," she whispered. "There are so many subtle differences between the two of you and with each one I find, the more I start to think that you don't look like him at all."_

"_Subtle differences?" he questioned._

"_For starters, you have little tan freckles everywhere," she said with a smile before she kissed him again, "even on your lips."_

_His persistent frown finally gave way and at long last, his lips turned upward , hinting at a smile. Unable to help himself, he found his hands traveling up her thighs, coming to rest on either side of her waist and when they did, she rocked against him gently. He knew what he was doing; giving in; the selfish streak that ran through him was more than happy to let that happen. She was distracting him, he was allowing it and for the first time in his life, he couldn't take charge and was actively avoiding an issue. A playful evening indeed…_

"_And one of your nostrils is larger than the other," she continued, running her finger down the length of his nose. "And your bottom front teeth are crooked."_

"_Enough," he said, pushing her off of him and heading towards the bedroom with anything but a smile on his face. "I don't need you to point out my imperfections, Vanessa. You're not ideal either."_

_He skulked off, walking into the bedroom and closing the door behind him, tempted to slam it for added effect but knew he couldn't. It was past nine. The little girl who would celebrate her second birthday in less than two months was fast asleep in her room just down the hall. _

_To his surprise, Vanessa followed him, his volatile mood catching her by surprise and she approached him with such determination and forcefulness behind her eyes, that he almost braced himself for a slap. Of course, that wasn't her plan of action. The woman who was prone to catching bugs before releasing them outside, instead of squashing them at first glance would never do such a thing. She merely cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look into her eyes_

"_Don't be so touchy. I never said they were imperfections. They're what I love about you." _

_Stroking his face, she kissed him again in an effort to soothe the savage beast. "What's wrong, Jack? This isn't like you."_

_Jack; like Jessica before her, Vanessa was the only one who could call him by that abbreviation and live to tell the tale. Coming from her lips it was like music to his ears and he welcomed it as a term of endearment. If only he were worthy of such affections._

"_I'm a monster. This job…it's," and she placed a hand over his mouth, a lighthearted attempt to stop him from speaking. He was about to willfully violate the don't ask, don't tell nature of their relationship. Something they'd been all too eager to abide by, both of them secretly knowing it could never last. It was only a matter of time._

_She must have reached a similar conclusion as she pulled her hand away. With sadness in her eyes, she asked the question._

"_What happened?"_

_Jackson couldn't answer her, couldn't even look at her. "I didn't do anything. See, that's the way it works; I never actually do anything. Not guilty, right?"_

"_Jesus," she mumbled and started to leave the room, stopping when he hung his head and said it again, "I'm a monster."_

_Vanessa turned on her heels and came back to him. "You're not a monster, you're not. That's what makes it so hard to understand why you've chosen this, this career. Leave your job, Jackson, please."_

"_I don't know how," he answered truthfully. _

_"Your job defines you…," those words sprung into his mind, but he dismissed them. He knew they weren't correct. He was defined by the little girl whose eyes lit up the second she saw him and the woman who would wrap her arms around him and whisper of her love and devotion. Unfortunately, his was not the type of career where one simply gave two weeks notice. Unless you soared to the ranks of the elite, which he would never do as he was not an immediate member of the Falcone family, you were forced to wait until you were deemed inadequate and put out to pasture. Anyone who tried to leave before their time was regarded with open suspicion, trailed and usually killed. This wasn't so much a career as a sentence. If only he could start over again…_

"_Then we'll work on that," she said, too optimistic for her own good. "Besides, I can't leave you now, not after I broke the lease on my apartment to move in with you."_

"_Very funny," he mumbled but the truth was she had succeeded in taking the fire out of him, for now at least. Stupid of him to never say the words, but he loved her, couldn't deny that and he thought it unfair that outside forces could and would conspire to bring about the end of their relationship. _

"_I've noticed a thing or two about you, Sweetheart," he said, pulled in by her game of discovery and desperate for a break from all the gloom and doom._

"_Do tell."_

_Jackson didn't answer right away as he shook off the last dregs of reluctance. Instead, he took a seat at the foot of the bed and reached out, grasped a single strand of her long, dark hair and held it up toward the light, watching as it slid through his fingers._

"_I know you have a faint tint of red in your hair, but it can only be seen in the sunlight," he said and dropped the hair brusquely as if he were disappointed that the burgundy highlights he so loved couldn't be seen by lamp light alone, then smiled at her mischievously._

"_And?" _

"_And I know you have the cutest little birthmark…right here," he continued, snaking his hand up the front of her t-shirt and letting it come to rest just below her left breast. At the same time, his free hand wrapped around her, pulling her back into his lap and he loved the way she practically purred when he did so._

"_And I know you giggle like a schoolgirl when you're excited," he whispered in her ear._

_Sure enough, he heard that high pitched chuckle, then her hands began tugging at his clothing and he groaned. This was going all wrong. He was looking for distance, not a seduction – now here he was, caving in and loving it._

_But Ava had other plans and her piercing cry echoed through the apartment bringing about an end to their romantic interlude. In a way, he was thankful for it – divine intervention or fate forcing him to stay the course._

"_Hold that thought," Vanessa said before she left him sitting on the bed breathing heavily for a multitude of reasons._

_Hearing her shut the door to Ava's bedroom; Jackson made a beeline for their bathroom, washing his face, undressing and collecting his thoughts before he slipped under the covers._

_Finally alone, he had time to think about what had him so troubled, what had sent him rushing home in a panic. How he watched as they were unceremoniously dumped over the railing of their eighth story penthouse one by one. _

_Too far off to hear the screams, he could only watch as they frantically flapped their arms; an involuntary reaction he surmised. He would have done the same. But through some cruel twist of fate their efforts brought them back into each others arms and that, that bothered him the most – haunted him. Did she try to comfort her daughter as they fell to their deaths? Did she tell her to close her eyes and pretend she could fly or were they too terrified to think about anything? _

_Jackson had kept his head downcast throughout most of this. He didn't feel shame or guilt; he didn't know how to classify this emotion…weighted. He almost turned and nodded in acknowledgement to Tom that the job was done, but he stopped himself. Tom was no longer there, having "retired" a month ago. The planning for this job had been all his doing. There was no one to share the responsibility with._

_A month alone, a month spent planning, targeting the innocent so that a brash message might be sent – this time to Vasily Shcherbakov, head of the Odessa Mob._

_And when he watched that seven year old go up and over the railing, quickly followed by her mother, he rolled his window up, not wanting to hear the sound as mother and child landed on the pavement or the cars below. Hoping to tune out the clamor of the crowd that would soon follow, he turned up the car stereo a bit and waited for the confirmation call; not to confirm that lives had been taken, that was all too obvious, but the events that were to follow were equally as important._

_Jackson had spent days on end meticulously picking apart Shcherbakov's security and found it was air tight. The man loved his family and spared no expense. He could understand that. He'd done the same for Vanessa; provided her with security so pervasive yet so covert that he alone was aware of their constant presence. This man was no different and as a result, Jackson had found no weaknesses. That left only one alternative. If they can't be beaten, they must be bought. Shcherbakov's security had become his security. The men in that eighth story penthouse, hired for protection, were on his payroll. They had ruthlessly murdered the mother and child left in their charge. All that was left for them to do was rough each other up and feign unconsciousness; make it look like an ambush. Then, while Vasily mourned the loss of his family, the rest of the organization would be wondering, not so much who but how? And they would know better than try to muscle their way into someone elses territory._

_As police sirens drew near, Jackson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't let them fuck it up, just one last detail," he muttered as he twirled his cell phone in his hand, almost dropping it when it finally did ring._

"_Rippner," he answered. _

"_Everything's all set," Andy, the older of the two unscrupulous guards said in a monotone voice._

"_What about, Russo? Let me talk to him," Jackson demanded, wanting to make sure that everyone was present and accounted for._

"_Can't do that."_

"_Why?" Jackson asked, suddenly becoming alarmed. Not that it really mattered at this point. The job was done, but Jackson wanted the mystery, he wanted the effect. Two security guards turning traitor over a large sum of cash was still despicable but it hardly sent the message that the Falcone family could strike anywhere at anytime and there was nothing that could be done to prevent it._

"_Because I accidentally knocked him unconscious when we were roughing each other up."_

"_Even better," Jackson concluded. Now he didn't have to worry about their acting abilities quite to much. "Pleasure doing business with you, now get rid of your phone and play dead."_

_Another job behind him; they would give him a break now like they always did. One, maybe two weeks at the most until they asked to consult with him on another project and then the early mornings and the late nights would begin anew. _

_Funny that he had been so involved with this particular job; from start to finish, he'd seen to every last detail almost always by himself. Why was that?_

_Then dark thoughts came to him and he saw the duality of the message. His blood turned to ice and he left the scene, driving slowly, not wanting to be seen fleeing the carnage like a bat out of hell but once he had distanced himself somewhat, he upped the speed._

_He had worked himself into a panic for nothing. Now he was home and she was safe but the message was crystal clear. She was tolerated by the Falcone's, but she would never be accepted. Even the word tolerate was generous. Some of them hated her outright, or Ava to be specific. Tom had said as much, had done his best to warn and dissuade him from this relationship, but as usual, he didn't listen. _

_To some within the organization, Ava's birth was seen as an insult to Carmine's memory and if anyone with even a small amount of influence had shared that opinion, the two of them wouldn't even be here right now. Luckily most of them saw her for what she was; innocent, and they would leave her be. But to meet her, accept her – that was never going to happen and they had wanted to make sure he knew this relationship had gone on long enough. It was time to let her go before he got in too deep. _

_But he was already in too deep. He didn't want to let her go; he would never want such a thing. He had to let her go. _

"_Are you awake?" she whispered hopefully when she came back into the room thirty minutes later. Jackson didn't respond, he kept his eyes shut tight, hoping she'd think him asleep._

_She approached and stood beside him, watching intently he was sure, and she poked him once. When he didn't awaken, she huffed and gave up – shutting off the lights and slipping into bed beside him. Ten minutes later she fell asleep. He knew she had to be because her left arm kept hitting him followed seconds later by her leg. She was having that snow angel dream again and that filled him with a strange sense of pride and melancholy. If their relationship amounted to nothing else, at least her dreams were pleasant once more._

_He gently rolled her onto her side, hoping to put an end to the constant tapping he felt at his side coupled with her continuous, though unintentional, efforts to push him off the bed. She stirred a bit, grumbled in protest but quickly fell silent and he wrapped his arms around her and held her protectively, solemnly. One more night with her, just one more; there was nothing to be gained by doing it now he decided._

_Tomorrow, tomorrow he would ask her to leave. She couldn't ask him to leave his job any more than he could ask her to love a killer; the whole situation was iniquitous. And it was all his doing. _

_In the morning they would talk, he would help her pack and their hearts would break. He would tell her all his reasons and only hope that she didn't end up hating him for it._

_And when she was gone he would remember their time together fondly; the tragically short period when they had been happy, almost a family._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jackson stared down at the phone, laying there amongst the crisp autumn leaves that crunched under his feet as he took one step forward, bent down and retrieved it.

_He wants to talk to you…_

Lifting the phone to his ear, Jackson listened for Ava, any sign, some form of indication that she was alright. He heard nothing but a muffled cry and an unremitting beep which he couldn't quite place.

It wasn't until Crane spoke that Jackson realized just how heavy his breathing had become, drawn from the stress and the anticipation rather than the battle in the woods.

"_You're there, aren't you?"_

He didn't respond. He knew how much Crane liked to put on a show and Jackson refused to let him take center stage.

"_This is what I have to do."_

The price for not playing along and again almost complete silence with the exception of that beep; it was persistent, rapid, like a racing heartbeat, like his own racing heartbeat. _Vanessa._

"Oh God, what has he done?" Jackson wondered and his expression grew pained for even as he was faced with a sudden, horrid awareness, he could hear Crane's muffled voice in the background, smooth, cajoling, almost seductive; then Ava began to scream.

"No!" Jackson yelled and hung up the phone. He wouldn't listen to this. Wouldn't try to plead with Crane and ask him to show this child, his own daughter, mercy. It would be a wasted effort. Instead he turned his back to Veronica and opened the phone again. His cell phone seemed useless out here but, for whatever reason, the phone in his hand worked.

He dialed 9-1-1 and got nothing, just a blank screen.

"It doesn't work that way, Jack. You need a code to get a line out," Veronica advised and she quickly ducked when he tossed the phone directly at her head.

"It's all on you," he seethed and her eyes opened in wonder, but she said nothing. Surprising for a woman like her, perhaps the guilt was beginning to sink in. "Whatever happens to that little girl, it's all on you."

"Don't get yourself so worked up, Jack. He's putting on a show for you. It's what he's been waiting for. Now get moving."

With a wave of the gun, they were off and he started to forge a plan, wondering if somehow this was for the best – she would bring him straight into the building, past all the guards and right to Vanessa and Ava. But what to do when he got there? That was the problem. And now that Veronica thought she'd managed to bring him under control she had become chatty, which did little more than distract him.

"It was strange, the way he used to watch her, well, all of you, constantly. Especially when you were a couple; he kept pictures, videotapes. He'd watch them over and over, work himself into frenzy, and accuse you of leaving the curtains open intentionally, weird shit like that. I don't know what the fuss was about. Hours of what was basically your naked rear end bobbing up and down – most of the time you couldn't even see Vanessa. He's infatuated with those two but I think his real vendetta is with you."

Jackson listened to her wretched musings as they marched through the woods, noticing that the temperature had been dropping rapidly over the past two hours. It had become bitter cold. Worse than any other year he could remember and he was reminded of Vanessa – the first time they had met. Away in the mountains, far from the city, he had brought her on a similar journey. As soon as he'd let her out of the car she had….

Jackson stumbled forward and twisted, landing on his side with a thud.

"That was graceful. Get up," Veronica demanded.

"I think I twisted my ankle," he insisted, clutching his lower leg for added effect.

"Bullshit, get up, Jack, now."

He got up on his hands and knees, mimicking pain and when she stepped beside him, gun in hand, he grabbed a clump of dirt and threw it into her face. Out of reflex, she turned her back on him, shielding her exposed visage with her hands, worried that he had a trick up his sleeve, that what he had thrown had been lethal. _She's been spending too much time with Crane._

Jackson wasted no time. He lunged for her. At that point, she had already begun to recover, realizing it was only dirt, but it was too late. He ignored her attempts to scratch and kick at him, mostly pointless when they were in such close proximity, and his fingers dug deeply into her right hand, forcing the weapon from her grasp but not before she managed to squeeze the trigger. Moving his head to the side just in time, the shot flew over his shoulder, colliding with a tree behind him. He heard the splatter, though none of it actually landed on him, and it was followed by a hiss and an acrid smell.

A hard shove sent her reeling and he snatched the weapon from the ground, pointing it directly at her.

"Here's how it's going to go, Veronica, we're going into that building together and then you are going to take me right to Crane. If you cooperate with me and I get the two of them back unharmed, I'll let you live. Anything less and I guess you'll find out first hand what a mess this weapon makes."

"I don't think so," she said, looking as if she were about to laugh. "Maybe you would have done it ten years ago, but not now. You're too soft. Jonathan's unstable Jack, you know that. I'm not going to cross him. I'd sooner take my chances with you"

"That's what you think, Ronnie? That the years have tamed me and I won't make good on my threats?" he asked.

Doubt spread over her face momentarily, but she didn't change her stance. A tiny part of him pitied her for it; so frightened of the good doctor that she couldn't see straight. Then he thought of his best friend floating face down in the river and he thought of Vanessa and Ava…the suffering Veronica had facilitated, and whatever pity he may have felt vanished. When he caught her trying to reach into her pocket, the choice was made.

"Suit yourself," he said bluntly and fired the weapon not knowing what to expect.

Jackson had no idea what it was that splashed across her chest, neck and the lower part of her jaw, even finding its way into her mouth, but whatever the substance might be, it was highly corrosive. For the second time in less than two minutes, her hands rose to her face, clawing at the substance in a wasted effort to get it off. It didn't work that way. Veronica only managed to spread the caustic substance onto her hands. It made short work of her finger tips, quickly dissolving the flesh to reveal the stark, white bone beneath. She cried out, only once, but the agonizing wail barely made it past the twisted and half dissolved pieces of flesh that had once been her lips. Her mouth hung agape, a cavernous, black hole where her tongue and teeth should have been and she shuffled towards him, her arms outstretched, a pleading gesture, begging for relief.

But unfortunately for her, her throat had already begun to swell. He would never hear those words and with her airway now swollen shut, she was unable to breathe. She gurgled, made clicking noises and stumbled, falling to her knees. Veronica would die a horrible death; writhing in agony until her body gave out. He should be thrilled that she had gotten what she deserved but her resemblance to Vanessa ruined it.

Finally, he turned his head. The gruesome display was too much, even for him. He'd put her out of her misery if he could but he lacked the means. He still had the small duffle bag filled with an assortment of pistols, but Tom had the bulk of the ammunition and those resources now belonged to the River Liberty. Frankly, with bullets scarce, it wasn't worth wasting one to end her pain.

When she fully collapsed he approached her still gurgling form and began to rummage through her pockets finding a pocket knife, a passkey of some kind and what appeared to be a mini version of a gas mask. He treasured that last item most of all, thinking it would prove the most useful. After cramming all the items into his pockets, he dared to look at Veronica's face one last time.

She was unrecognizable now and most certainly dead. Her once beautiful features destroyed. He left her there, lying out in the woods with the rest of her allies. There would be no special considerations for the woman he'd once romanced. Right now he needed to focus on getting into that building and it would have to be done quickly. If Jackson didn't appear before him in the flesh and Veronica was missing in action, Crane would no doubt start to wonder what had become of them and then the woods would be teaming with hunters.

He made his way back to the building and watched the guard pacing back and forth anxiously with a radio in his hand, something Jackson hadn't seen before. He would have to take him out quickly but wasn't sure how. The shot that had brought Veronica's life to such a horrific end was pure luck and partly due to the fact that they had been standing less than three feet from each other. The guard was about one hundred feet away. Truthfully, Jackson didn't even know if this weapon had that kind of range.

Deciding that a test was in order, he turned his back to the building, intent on firing the weapon into the woods. There was nothing to lose and he wanted to see how far the deadly projectile would travel. Bringing the gun upward, Jackson randomly fired at a tree in the distance. He squeezed the trigger and got nothing. The weapon produced a slight whirring sound and a downward glanced revealed a tiny, red light located on the side of the gun blinking off and on repeatedly. Jammed or empty, he didn't know which, but it was useless and he resisted the urge to throw it in frustration.

"Damn it," he muttered through his tightly clenched jaw. His cause was righteous; if there was a God or justice in the world then why were the odds always stacked against him? Instead it seemed he was being punished constantly. Wherever there was hope, it would be cruelly snatched away. Presented with another useless cell phone, a bag full of guns he couldn't use without blowing his cover and his one salvation now ineffectual; one cruel test of wills after another.

But he didn't cast the weapon aside, not yet. He knew that it might still be good for a bluff.

So he waited until the guard turned away from him, making his way towards the north side of the building before he would turn around and do it all over again. Seizing the opportunity, Jackson emerged from the woods and closed the distance between the two of them rapidly. By the time the guard turned around to repeat his constant vigil, Jackson was standing less than thirty feet away from him with the gun drawn.

"Don't move," he demanded, stepping forward and further closing that gap.

The guard looked at him in alarm until his focus fell on the weapon. As Jackson feared, he seemed to know its inner workings and called his bluff. A good six inches taller than Jackson and probably fifty pounds heavier, the guard quickly wrote him off and when the man reached for his radio, he knew he would have to do this the old fashioned way.

Speed and skill trumping physical strength, a well placed kick knocked the radio from his hands and Jackson moved in, driving his fist into the mans' gut and knocking the wind out of him. The guard fell forward gasping for air and he delivered a sharp kick to the back of the mans' knees, sending him to the ground.

Choke holds, he loved them, employed them often and this was another perfect occasion. It was quick and compared to what Veronica had gone through, merciful.

After five seconds the man was drowsy, unable to fight. Ten seconds later, he was unconscious but Jackson didn't release him. He kept a tight hold, depriving his brain of oxygen until the damage was done. No longer a threat to anyone, Jackson grabbed the dead mans' ankles and dragged him into the woods, making sure the body was well out of sight before he snatched the radio and made his way to the side door. All the while, he kept a running tab– a rough estimate of how much time had passed. Ava was always on the forefront of his thoughts and he wondered what was happening, praying that she could defend herself against that monster.

There wasn't much time, there couldn't be. The presence of the radio probably meant that the guard was supposed to check in at set intervals. Like Veronica, when they didn't hear from him alarms would go off and then all hell would break loose.

Jackson opened the door slowly and listened. No one was around and he stepped inside, immediately swallowed by the darkness and the deafening silence. Every step he took echoed, every exhalation seemed to reverberate off the walls and he wondered why the entire building hadn't been alerted to his presence, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. A ghost town, although he knew it wasn't.

A corridor in front of him and one at either side; he had no idea which path to take. Through the process of elimination or, to be more accurate, a guess, Jackson chose the hallway directly in front of him. He traveled through the darkness until he turned a corner and everything changed.

Still devoid of any sign of life, there was at least some light scattered though it may be. The long stretches of darkness remained but they were broken occasionally by a dim fluorescent bulb or two. If one looked closely enough, they might see a pattern. It looked like a runway, meant to guide someone and again, he thought of Ava and her fear. Was Crane keeping her exactly where he wanted her? And if Jackson were as close to finding them as he thought he was, why couldn't he hear her cries?

In fact, he couldn't hear a blessed thing, only a persistent and rather annoying beep far off in the distance. It was continual, just like….

Jackson froze in place, suddenly finding himself little more than a bundle of nerves when faced with the realization that Vanessa and Ava were _that_ close. He couldn't run to their aid no matter how badly he wanted to, he would have to step lightly and making that concession infuriated him. He continued the slow and quiet pace until he was certain he'd pinpointed the source of the noise behind another closed door.

How had he been able to hear this faint noise from such a distance? The circumstances that had brought him to the door and the choices he had made were based on pure luck. Maybe fate wasn't being so cruel after all?

Still unable to hear anything but the incessant beeping of what sounded like a heart rate monitor, he stepped further into the labyrinth. Once again, Jackson saw closed doors every where he looked and a lab at the end of the hall, apparently empty.

Following the noise of the machine like a beacon, he opened yet another door and crossed the threshold into a harshly lit room, the floor of which was speckled with blood.

Behind a cloth partition he saw a form lying in a hospital bed.

What he saw when he stepped behind the curtain brought him to his knees.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, I've been procrastinating since the next chapter deals with difficult subject matter…cringe. We're approaching the end of the story but there is still a ways to go and lot of action will take place before we get there.**

**Thank you for being patient as well as taking the time to read and/or review. That goes for anonymous reviewers as well. I always feel bad that I'm not able to thank you personally.**

**And as always, thanks to emptyvoices for her input and suggestions**.


	19. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Okay, when I place a note at the beginning of the chapter it usually means there is graphic content ahead, and believe me, there is _graphic_ content ahead. This story _is_ rated M, but I just wanted to give you all a heads up. This chapter sickens me. It was difficult to write, and I still have misgivings about even posting it. Would I feel the same way if Ava was 25? I don't know…..**

**Sorry it took me so long to update, but now that I'm down to two stories, it should happen more frequently.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for beta reading this unbelievably long chapter, thank you, Zzee for pushing me when I was about to chicken out, and helping with the various plot points and dialogue issues.**

**And finally, thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review. I appreciate it very much.**

**Now, onto the story……**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_It would seem that every time they parted ways, he was left in agony. _

_So much physical pain, so many ways to hurt; the cut on his face, her unforeseen vicious strike below the belt, the one he was reminded of with every step he took as he tore through the woods surrounded by the blare of police sirens. The net was tightening around him, it must be._

_Jonathan fled into the woodlands certain that he would be apprehended in a matter of minutes and as he ran, driven by his desperation, he thought about many things; would he go down in a horribly clichéd hail of bullets, would he find a slew of infinitely clever words should the Bat-Man catch up to him first, insuring that he'd always be remembered; had he killed her? He hadn't meant to._

_Finally, he came to a stop when he reached a clearing. Huffing and wheezing, a man with a penchant for psychopharmacology rather than physical exertion, he could go no further. When he turned and chanced a look over his shoulder, there was no one. He was out here alone, free, or so it would seem. _

_Why would the man in black call off his chase, Jonathan wondered as he looked down at his bloodied hand, the one that had been clutching his face throughout all of this and he realized that, whether or not he was currently being pursued, he would have to keep moving. The wound made by the nail file was painful, but superficial. The gash across his face was another matter, large and gaping, it would require stitches, and someone with a skilled hand so that he might be spared a jagged scar across his face. Finding a place to hunker down and lick his wounds was essential and waltzing into an emergency room was out of the question._

_But his steps came slow and heavy now that the adrenalin had worn off and the cold night began to take its toll. Where was his motivation, his drive? Had he left it behind, still and broken on the dining room floor of a modest townhouse? No, there must be more to it than that. Something else had brought him this far, had gotten him out of the Narrows, out of his confinement, away from those long hours spent strapped to some intricate contraption of his design that all others referred to as a chair – an over simplification if ever there was one. _

_Still, as he soldiered on, he could think of nowhere to go. He had no job, no safe home he could return to, no money; what did he have now if not her? And now she was gone; taken from him out of sheer clumsiness, the forward thrust of a knife at the worst possible moment._

_Or was she?_

_It was true that he'd never had a chance to examine the injury and had no idea how deep the knife had plunged. Maybe someone else had done that for him? The Bat-Man, purveyor of justice that he was, would have left her behind if she were unscathed, he would have left her if she were already dead or clearly a lost cause; but if she were somewhere in between, if there were a glimmer of hope, he would do the right thing – placing the value of her life higher than the detainment of even one of the city's most feared criminals._

_That understanding, and the probability of Vanessa's continued existence hit him at approximately the same time as the realization that he could not run to the Narrows looking to trade his corrupt knowledge for backstreet medical care. The place would be infested with police officers, combing the streets in search of him. Going there would be every bit as brilliant and obvious as returning to his own home to take a nap. _

_No matter where he went, he had to keep moving, had to go somewhere. The paramedics must have arrived at Vanessa's home by now, leaving the Bat-Man free to carry on his pursuit and time was of the essence. Thinking it over, Jonathan switched direction and headed north. Covered almost head to toe in blood; his clothes damp, cold and clinging to his body, one could not hide, blend or even survive the night given these circumstances. Which made it an even greater relief when, after an additional thirty minutes of speed walking, he came upon Gotham University._

_No one would expect to find him here; a place that to him carried memories of shame and humiliation, both as student and Professor._

_Despite the long and trying day he had faced, Jonathan estimated it was seven o'clock at the latest. Too early for opportunities to present themselves, he would have to wait out in the cold for another hour until the final class of the evening wrapped up. Crouched in the outskirts of the student parking lot, well out of sight, he stayed there less than ten feet away from a green, late model Pontiac sedan that had seen better days and waited for the drivers' return. Sure enough, the young man came along with an impossibly large stack of books in his arms. He'd probably arrived here in the morning, forced to park in the middle of nowhere due to the influx of morning students and had no doubt been in classes until late in the evening. Jonathan remembered those days well and the way his glasses perpetually slid down the nose of this tall, gangly, boy who appeared to be in his late teens, just a little too young to be in college, made him feel a slight tinge of remorse for what he was about to do._

_But it was only that, a tinge, and when the boy placed his books on the roof of the car and began fumbling in the near dark for his keys, Jonathan grasped the rock he'd found earlier and approached. The perfect weapon; one sharp edge, the rest smooth – it fit in his hand beautifully, like it was meant to be there and it sunk into the man's skull with the greatest of ease. An additional piercing blow and it was over; a sharp contrast to the fanfare he'd participated in earlier that day. Jonathan checked for a pulse and smiled when he found none. All in all, he had been humane; the young man had never seen it coming._

_Looking down, he focused on the wound, wondering why it seemed to appeal to the doctor in him. Wide and bloody, grey and red; at once a starling mosaic and a horrible mess, Jonathan conceded that he would have to leave the man's coat with its myriad blood spatter, but everything else was fair game, including the wallet and the car. When he opened the door and found a Gotham University sweatshirt on the back seat, he took that as well._

_It was as he pulled that thick garment over his head, treasuring the warmth if provided, that Jonathan heard the sound of applause. When he turned his head, finding it hard to fathom who or what would do such a thing, he saw a familiar face; the legend. Though they had never met each other face-to-face, both seemed to know the other all too well._

_Standing against a car that had appeared out of nowhere, the Joker stepped forward; his unnaturally pale skin taking on a horrid yellow tint under the dim glow of the street lights._

"_Humble pie for the Scarecrow tonight," he chuckled as he stepped past Jonathan and knelt beside the dead man's body. "But wouldn't the Bat-Man be crushed if you managed to escape?"_

_Jonathan said nothing, his grip on the rock tightened as he wondered how stable this man was and what he had to offer. Though his list of allies was tragically short, he would prefer not to align himself with a madman who wanted nothing more than to throw a monkey wrench into the Bat-Man's plans at every possible turn. Jonathan had always endeavored to more than just a bother._

"_He was my cousin," the Joker said in a flat tone, the grin on his face ever present but his eyes filled with sadness._

"_I..," Jonathan began, but quickly stopped. A joke and a lie, but certainly a test; he would have to choose his words carefully. Could he summon his wry humor and play that game? Yes, yes he could. "The night is young and my arms aren't tired; where's the rest of your family?"_

_The men watched each other silently, eyes locked in a demented battle of wills because their faces, one blank, one a twisted caricature, could never belie their true intent. Only the sound of hissing laughter broke the standoff._

"_I love a man with a sense of humor," the Joker said, rising to his feet and placing a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "I've been looking for someone like you."_

"_Why should I…,"_

"_Because I know someone who can fix that little problem of yours," he said, cutting Jonathan off mid-sentence. "We'll make you look pretty again. Can't go back to your fair maiden looking like this, can you?"_

"_She's alive?"_

"_Yes, my overzealous friend; she's very much alive. But do take it easy next time, would you?"_

_The words and the tone in which they were spoken were strangely comforting and as they walked towards the car, Jonathan felt something other than the pain and frustration that plagued this chilly evening; there was hope and camaraderie._

"_This is the start of a beautiful friendship," his new partner uttered, echoing his thoughts and eradicating the last bastion of sound judgment left within him._

_What a friendship it had been; one that had seen the two men wreaking havoc on the city in one form or another, helping each other in their time of need as long as it didn't require too much risk or effort. They had designed weapons, killed, robbed and tortured together. And based wholly on a dare, Jonathan had vandalized a certain cemetery, toppling and shattering the tombstone of a man he'd never met nor had any quarrel with other than the fact that she had once loved him._

_Throughout the trials and tribulations, Jonathan continued to make his plan and he watched her, he watched them, incessantly. _

_Seeking out his daughter…another dare, more of temptation really; one more aspect of his business partners challenge. "Be king for a day," and "take what's yours," those were the taunts, words of encouragement, whatever you want to call them. Secretly, Jonathan wondered if his partner wanted him to get caught. Just for a laugh, to see if the infamous Scarecrow could orchestrate a prison break._

_Regardless of the risk, or maybe because of it, Jonathan found that he was not above donning a disguise and walking the streets of Gotham, no one knowing or even suspecting that the man they had callously bumped into while trying to catch the five o'clock bus uptown was the same man who had tried to kill them all over a decade ago and had every intention of doing so again. Over the years, he'd developed a taste for walking on the edge, never knowing who he might run into; Bruce Wayne, Jackson Rippner…would they still be vigilante after all this time and he was thought dead? Would they recognize him?_

_Today was another one of those days. Jonathan's disguise on this temperate October afternoon: makeup to cover his scar, colored contacts to hide his eyes – a simple, yet dramatic change – and a hooded jacket._

"_Are you lonely?" the women who cluttered the street corners each evening at sunset asked in rapid succession. _

_Jonathan ignored them for the most part, though some he found marginally attractive or perhaps something less than repulsive, meaning they had all their teeth and didn't smell of the various sex acts they had engaged in that evening. Staying just out of arms reach, lest they try to touch him, he quickened his pace, anxious to get out of this part of the city before the sun went down and the real riff raff came out. He didn't fear them. He was more than capable of handling himself in any number of ways; he was wary of the man who hunted them, night after night he came here, single handedly believing he could solve the world's problems, wash the streets free of crime._

_Two more streets and he was rid of them all. Officially in Gotham's higher rent district, he would reach his car in a matter of minutes and to guarantee his presence went unnoticed, a thick fog had conveniently begun to spread across the city, partially obscuring him and everything else in sight._

_He barely noticed her when he rounded that final corner, hands in his pockets, digging for his car keys. But he could sense the fear, the fear and hatred she harbored towards all things male as her kind often did._

"_Are you looking for some company?" a shaky voice asked and at that precise moment, he felt an equally unsteady hand brush across his arm. _

_She pulled away from him immediately, recoiling even as he did the same. Keep away, he almost admonished, but thankfully, he stopped to take a look at her before the words escaped his lips._

_She was young, mid twenties he'd guess, with tan skin, black hair and hazel eyes. Possessing the same tiny frame, she reminded him of Vanessa the first day she had set foot in Arkham; wide eyed and innocent. If he hadn't known better, Jonathan would swear this was Vanessa. But the thought of her turning tricks on some street corner was both implausible and laughable._

_Which made this young woman's presence all the more remarkable; her seeming innocence the last thing he'd ever thought to find in a hooker. She was trembling and it wasn't from the cold. It was apparent to him that she was new to this line of work. Probably out on the streets for one, maybe two nights at the most, she didn't appear to have a pimp or guardian of any kind; someone to make sure she always came back. He may very well be one of her first clients, and that was appealing because he often enjoyed breaking a new girl in; secretary or otherwise. It was a delightful thought, a thought that became more intriguing with every second he spent ogling her._

"_Are you lonely?" she asked again, reverting to that same mundane question that had so irritated him earlier._

"_I despise the company of others, my dear and I never want for attention; certainly not from the likes of you."_

_A harsh response, every bit as abrasive as he'd meant it to be, all that was left was to stand back and see how she handled the rebuke._

"_I'm not looking to be friends," she spat. "I'm looking to do business. Come on, fifteen will get you ten."_

_Not a bad response, better than what he had anticipated and he was heartened to see this young entrepreneur was not easily daunted. Bright and horribly out of place, Jonathan wondered if fate had somehow ordained this meeting. _

"_Where are you from, Ms….?"_

"_Veronica and where I live is none of your business."_

"_Yes, that's quite practical. However, that's not what I was asking. Your heritage; where are you from?"_

"_Dad's from Argentina and Mom's from Guatemala, why?" she asked when she saw the smile on his face broaden._

"_Call it idle curiosity," he answered, intrigued by her and her salacious offers. The close proximity of his vehicle and the twenty dollar bill in his pocket sealed the deal. "You'll do nicely. I accept your offer, Veronica."_

_Down the alley they went and they were completely alone. The only other living soul they encountered was a heavily bearded man lying against the wall, clutching the sheets of newspaper that served as his blankets almost as tightly as he held his half empty bottle of whiskey. Jonathan passed him by without as much as a passing glance. It was Veronica who stopped, giving the man a look of pity before he tugged on her arm; a silent reminder that she should know better than to ignore her meal ticket._

"_Nice car, are you rich?" she asked hopefully as he unlocked the door. _

_Without answering, he slid the front seat of his Honda Pilot back as far as it would go, tilting the steering wheel to its highest setting before he climbed inside. Veronica was right behind him, kneeling in the cramped but adequate space he'd provided and the moment the door shut, she began to fumble nervously with his belt._

"_Am I rich?" he repeated with a slight chuckle. "I'm not as well off as I used to be, but I'm comfortable, comfortable enough to afford an indulgence every now and then."_

"_Yeah, I know what you mean," she said, thinking they actually had some sort of kinship. "This city bleeds you dry."_

"_Only if you let it, my dear."_

_He had lifted his hips for her, aiding the downward progression of his pants and boxer shorts. She stopped at that last remark; open and honest, the gleam in his eyes that followed made them seem menacing._

"_You're not a weirdo, are you?" she asked with trepidation._

"_Even if I were, I think it's safe to say you have me at a disadvantage. One can only cause so much harm with their pants around their ankles," he laughed, running a finger through her long, dark hair. "You have no reason to fear me, unless you were planning to pick my pockets while I was otherwise occupied."_

"_I wouldn't do that."_

"_A wise decision."_

_Feeling as though they'd reached an understanding, Jonathan tilted his seat back slightly and made himself comfortable as he looked onto the city streets. He could see almost nothing; a wall of fog with the intermittent streetlamp or set of headlights piercing the haze. Occasionally, someone would pass by, but no one touched the car or tried to peak through the tinted windows; this wasn't Wayne Manor, but it wasn't the Narrows either, theft or intrusion were of little concern._

_Jonathan took a deep breath; lips curling when he felt that thin barrier of latex envelop him. He knew how silly the notion sounded – that in this day and age, a doctor of all people would despise the use of prophylactics, but he loathed them and the loss of feeling they provided. But he told himself that he should feel reassured by her actions given the circumstances. The girl was clean, for now, unlike the other women he'd passed by earlier. One in particular had caught his eye; bulbous, thinning hair and cold sores dancing about her mouth. For ten extra dollars he could have ridden her bare back as she'd so eloquently put it. Fifty dollars for an unprotected romp with a modern day Typhoid Mary; the doctor in him cringed._

_It would seem that in this city, there were two kinds of people; the ones that made him want to retch and the ones he thought to be monstrously insane. Nothing but filth and insanity; he often asked himself why he stayed here._

_Because there were exceptions, weren't there always? _

_Vanessa, that went without saying. This delightful young woman with her head buried in his lap; her full lips and skillful tongue providing a multitude of pleasurable sensations. And last but certainly not least, his daughter. His beautiful daughter with her dark hair and blue eyes; she was extraordinary, and her skin, her dark skin. Every inch of it smooth and flawless; how would it feel to the touch? How would it feel to hold her in his arms and…._

_His fist clenched and then twisted in Veronica's hair and he moaned quietly as he found his release, rocking against her as she slowed the pace but didn't stop, enabling him to savor the moment and enjoy every second of his allotted time._

_But he had been shaken by his thoughts. He had found sexual gratification while obsessing over his daughter's beauty; how could he have allowed that to push him over the edge? Even he was disturbed by what that could potentially mean._

_It was nothing, he convinced himself. Nothing at all, just this woman's uncanny resemblance to Vanessa and the intense emotions he felt whenever he thought of his family – all that and a bit of poor timing, nothing more. Ava was dear to him. He'd placed her on a pedestal, too high for her to ever fall victim to his more base impulses; those blatant sexual desires he'd stopped trying to control long ago. _

_Pray she never loses that adoration. _

_But enough worrying, Veronica was looking up at him in anticipation, waiting for her hard earned money._

"_In the back pocket of my pants," he huffed, still trying to regulate his breathing. "It's a twenty, you can keep it all."_

_She beamed at the news of a five dollar tip and money in hand, she gripped the door handle, smile fading when he grabbed her hand and refused to let go._

"_What if I want more time with you?" he asked._

"_It's fifty dollars for plain, old fashioned sex," she explained, causing him to laugh at the description. "And if you want to do role playing or something kinky, the price goes up. But keep in mind, there are some things I won't do."_

_She kept rambling on about the rules, but by that point, Jonathan was no longer listening. Those two words kept running through his mind…_

_Role playing_

_Then it all came together._

"_How long have you been doing this, Veronica?"_

_She hesitated, thought about lying, padding the numbers to make him think she had been around the block long enough to handle the likes of him, but was smart enough to know he would see right through the deception._

"_This was my second night. You were my fifth…client," she admitted._

"_You got a late start, Veronica. Most prostitutes your age have been on the streets for years, since their teens. Why the delay?"_

"_Bad luck. I lost my job, didn't have any savings, and then my car died, couldn't get a new job, blah, blah, blah. What can I say? A girl's gotta eat."_

"_And you think your situation is hopeless, that you can do nothing else with your life. Do you truly believe you have no other resources?"_

"_I don't believe, I know. I was doing temp work for ten bucks an hour, no benefits, and then the jobs dried up. So many people are unemployed. Even if you want to work at McDonalds you have to compete with people who have their bachelor's or even master's degrees. Who do you think they're going to hire? I have a G.E.D, this is as close to steady work and job security as I'm gonna get, but at least I can't get fired, right?"_

"_True on one level, short sighted on another, let me explain it to you," he started when her blank expression told him she understood very little of what he'd just said. "This job offers you a high mortality rate, venereal diseases and the promise of TMJ. You're out here alone, Veronica, but it won't stay that way, I can guarantee that. Sooner or later you'll wind up working for someone for the protection he'll offer. He'll take half your earnings, stand around and look menacing, but nothing more and how will it feel then? Will you still feel independent performing oral sex on strangers for $7.50 a pop?"_

_He couldn't make it any clearer than that and judging by the hurt in her eyes, she had understood and knew he was right._

"_You're an asshole. We're done here," she said with tears in her eyes, lashing out as people often did when faced with the truth, and she tried to exit the vehicle a second time._

"_You were an only child. Your mother died when you were young. I'd say you were twelve, maybe fourteen when it happened. You remember her well. You loved her very much and she was a strong woman. You and your father relied on her for guidance. But she wasn't there to mold you during those critical years of adolescence. That task fell upon your father, did it not?"_

_Startled that after spending fifteen minutes with her, he could read her like a book, she halted. He couldn't be sure what held her there, intrigue or emotional overload, but she stayed, and before long, she participated, daring to see what else he might come out with if the conversation continued._

"_Yeah, he took care of me until I moved out on my eighteenth birthday."_

"_On your eighteenth birthday," he repeated. "As soon as you were legally able to strike out on your own, what prompted that?"_

"_I didn't want to be a burden," she answered._

"_A man who loses his wife does not consider his only child a burden. He holds onto that child, keeps her close. Did he hold you too close, Veronica?"_

"_No, it wasn't like that," she cried; an overreaction. One more blink and the dam broke, sending a flood of tears down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and shook her head, before continuing. "We never had sex."_

"_You mean he never took your virginity. But he came to you for comfort. Drunk, crying over the void your mother had left behind. How did you comfort him? Did he ask you to do it, did he beg, or did you let your instincts guide you?"_

"_I just wanted him to be happy," she admitted._

"_But comfort for a single night wasn't enough. He came back again and again. You knew it was wrong but you loved him; you didn't want to tell anyone, get him in trouble, and wind up in the foster care system, so you never sought counseling. Instead you waited for years until you were old enough to run away. And when your life spun out of control, you fell back on the only thing you knew. But you tell yourself it's different this time. You're in charge, not them. Don't you understand that you've traded one form of abuse for another?" he asked, wondering if she would remember or even comprehend that he had been all too happy to abuse her moments ago._

"_And you think I can't possibly know you, but I do. I know that in your weaker moments, you want to die. I know you feel dirty, you hate everyone…including yourself."_

"_What are you, a shrink?" she asked, pulling herself together with remarkable speed._

"_As a matter of fact, I am, but like you, the city decided it was not longer in need of my services in the conventional sense of the word."_

"_Their loss," she said. "But are you always so philosophical after you get off?"_

_Jonathan was stunned by her brusque language and the speed at which she fired back; a capable woman in any case. He looked at her, his mouth agape and the laughter quickly followed; a deep, throaty and, for the first time in ages, genuine chortle._

"_Brilliant," he snickered, placing a hand on either side of her face. "Every bit as clever as I'd hoped. I want to offer you a job, Veronica; something far superior to whoring."_

"_What kind of job?" she asked._

"_A lucrative one, one that involves a hefty amount of role playing," he answered, moving a hand away from her and inching his arm lower, fumbling around in the dark until he found the controls and adjusted his power seating, reclining the seat to its farthest point. "I'll pay whatever you ask."_

_With a great deal of effort and a touch of pain when the steering wheel grazed roughly against his backside, he maneuvered Veronica, feeling triumphant when he finally managed to guide her into a more agreeable position; beneath him. She watched the entire time, passive and bewildered as he pushed her short skirt up around her waist, tugging at the flimsy pieces of string that she tried to pass off as underwear. After a few adjustments, he too managed to find a comfortable position and was more than willing to forge a new alliance._

"_What do you want me to do?"_

_A question he loved to hear from almost any woman, but in this case, he wanted nothing from her._

"_Trust me," he whispered. "Follow my orders. I want your assistance, nothing else."_

_He didn't bother to elaborate, knowing that the details could wait for another time. As it stood, he was distracted by the sight of her, blurred though she was in light of the heavy fog, but he could see enough. More importantly, he could still feel. Her skin, those firm thighs, the dark patch of hair between her legs; so much time spent pleasing others, she needed his affections._

"_You'll have to wear a condom," she stated firmly, convinced his probing fingers were more than a prelude._

"_No need," he responded, because even with a heavy fog, the sight of a car rocking back and forth would attract attention._

_Two nimble fingers slipped inside her warm body and Jonathan pressed against her, relishing the feeling of this woman as she rocked against his loving hand while the other unbuttoned her shirt. He welcomed the sensation of her breath in his ear as his lips brushed against her bare skin, remembering the time when the woman he truly wanted had done the same._

"_No," she protested when he reached her mouth. "That's one of the things I won't do."_

"_You're no longer a prostitute, Veronica. Starting tonight you have a new life, even a new name, and you'll no longer abide by old rules." That was true; he was anything but her savior, however he would give her a new set of laws._

_Still uncertain, but very much interested, she turned to him and even in that dim light, Jonathan could see her furrowed brow. He brushed a stray piece of hair from her face and his lips hovered inches from her own, feeling her waver. _

"_The Narrows is no longer your home. You'll never have to go back. That alone earns me the right to kiss these lips," he reasoned, sealing the deal and feeling her shudder at his first kiss._

_Their lips met a second time, a third, each kiss more intense than the one before and it wasn't long before she arched her back, issuing a delicate moan; his expert fingers more than likely providing the first orgasm she'd ever experienced with another human being present. She wept, clung to him, belonged to him._

"_Vanessa," he whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by some greater need, holding onto her and hugging back._

"_I don't even know your name."_

"_Jonathan…Jonathan Crane."_

_If she recognized the name she gave no indication; she was too young to have such knowledge but in time, she'd come to know him well._

"_I'm cold, can you take me home?" she asked._

"_Certainly," he answered and lifted his weight from her. Propping himself up by his arms, Jonathan watched as she redressed and slid out from beneath him, finding comfort in the passenger seat of his car._

_A moment later and they were on the road, creeping along with the rest of the traffic. When they reached the outskirts of the city and the altitude increased, the haze melted away. From his rearview mirror, Jonathan could see the oppressive fog settled upon the city, smothering it, and he thought about the past and the future; when chemicals of his design had and would envelope Gotham in much the same way. And when the day came for history to repeat itself, he would watch from this very spot, up in the mountains where everything was clear._

_He talked to his new companion as they drove. Though she was quick witted and not without her good points, each and every word that came from her mouth reminded him that this was not, could never be, his Vanessa. Nevertheless, he lent his ear, gave her his consideration and lacking the intuition that most women were famous for, Veronica trusted him._

_He was gentle with her that night and the night after; for many nights in fact. So careful was he when it came to introducing the non-traditional aspects of his personality that she hardly seemed to notice as he laid down layer upon layer. By the time she came to see him for what he truly was, it was too late. She'd grown dependent on him and being thrown back out of the streets was her greatest fear. A fear he had pinpointed quickly and exploited as often as he deemed necessary._

_When he told her about Jackson Rippner, his plan, and the role she would play, she had balked at the idea. But a mild dose of toxin and a brief glimpse of what he was capable of when angered put an end to those refusals. When the bruises and scrapes healed, when her memory returned, she did what he asked, even if it meant a partial return to prostitution; belonging to more than one man, stealing trust rather than money. _

_As time went on, Jonathan watched her progression; where at first she had begrudgingly accepted her role, Veronica came to enjoy her life and the perks that came with it. And as much as he resented playing second fiddle to Jackson Rippner yet again, the feelings she harbored for Falcone's personal hit man worked to his advantage; because a man with a nose for lies could only be fooled by a woman with a genuine crush, a woman taken with him because she thrived off his kind words and lavish gifts._

_Most importantly, she did what he asked and never objected or tried to correct him when he called her Vanessa._

"_Tell me you're mine," Jonathan ordered one hot summer night as their sweat soaked bodies pushed together and an old video of Jackson and Vanessa engaged in one of those intimate acts of long ago played in the background, spurring him on._

"_I'm yours," she moaned back._

"_Say it again, Vanessa."_

"_I'm yours," this facsimile of Vanessa, the mother of his child, focus of his obsession repeated. "I'm yours."_

"_Good girl."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_This is revenge_. After all these years he was finally getting his just desserts.

That's what it was; each time her skin would literally crawl at his touch, the way she whimpered when their lips met, he felt complete. His motivation throughout all of this, strange though it may seem, was not sexual. His goal was to cause pain, make her cry; to shock, disturb, scar, and destroy her innocence. To make her aware, to make them all aware, that happiness and stability were things of the past, the time for physical and emotional suffering was at hand.

And those that loved her most would have to listen, unable to come to her aid because _he_ had made them weak.

Ava fought him as much as she could, given her weakened state. A concussion, he surmised, most likely grade 2, though he had yet to make an official diagnosis. For now, he had to do little more than hold her down, keep her from thrashing about too much and bumping her head again. It wasn't because he gave a damn; Jonathan only wanted her to remain in her present state – awake, alert and best of all, crying out for her _Uncle Jack_ incessantly.

He let it go on for a minute or two, until one high pitched shriek in particular rattled his eardrums. The point had been made, now she was getting on his nerves.

"Shhh," he said in an effort to soothe her while he slipped a hand over her mouth. "He'll be here soon, Ava."

There was relative silence then. Nothing but the frantic beating of a heart rate monitor and Ava's heavy breathing. No sound issued forth from his cell phone; Mr. Rippner was being uncharacteristically quiet and it was the silence that drew Jonathan's attention.

Lifting himself off of his frightened daughter, he watched as she curled into a protective ball and turned away from him – overreacting as women were prone to do. Not known for showing restraint or kindness, he'd barely touched her this time around; the little ingrate should be thankful. To use an expression her uncle seemed partial to, Jonathan was tempted to advise her to _'suck it up,' _but quickly decided against it, not wanting to borrow words from that moron for _any_ reason.

But whatever he told her to do and whichever words he chose, she would mind. This excessive freedom she'd come to know was a thing of the past. Vanessa's laissez-faire approach to child rearing, kindhearted as it may appear, simply wouldn't do. Ava would be brought up right and proper, coming to know the strict, fatherly discipline she had heretofore been lacking.

Clutching the cell phone and holding it to his ear, Jonathan heard nothing. Rippner; Ava and Vanessa's supposed hero, couldn't handle it; he'd hung up, abandoning the two of them in their time of need.

"Coward…hypocrite," he seethed.

Which meant that they were on their way back at this very moment; Jonathan looked at his watch, knowing he had time to kill, but not a lot of it. He was anxious and considered calling Veronica back to make sure that things were on the up and up but decided against that as well; an unexpected phone call might cause distraction, give a certain industrious man the opportunity he needed.

"_Don't risk it, be patient_," he told himself. "_Your patience is what separates you from the rest of these animals."_

Nothing but a thorn in his side for far too many years, Jonathan couldn't wait to be rid of him.

"Did you ever question his motives, Vanessa?" he asked, opening a cabinet door and reaching for a fresh hand towel while Ava continued to weep. "What were you thinking?"

He hadn't expected an answer, but the question had been on his mind for years. Why would a man of no blood relation care so much for a child? Why had he gotten so close? She went to his home after school to visit at least once a week, he was the first one she went to when problems surfaced at school, and two weeks ago during an unexpected and harsh storm that pounded Gotham with heavy winds and driving rains, she had not returned home at all. Collectively, it had been decided that it was safer they stay where they were rather than risk going out in the storm.

Jonathan had exploded when the lights went out and Ava was still under _his_ roof. Why was he the only one concerned by this? Rippner had wormed his way into every aspect of her life and experience had taught him that men didn't become surrogate fathers without due consideration. Not unless they wanted something in return.

Then he looked down at Ava's huddled form. She was tall and lean. Her torn shirt revealed the taut stomach and smooth skin beneath; her rounded hips and gentle curves telling him she was maturing nicely. She was beautiful now, with time she would be breathtaking. When that time came, what would Mr. Rippner ask of the young girl who admired him so? _Veronica knew._

_The city was rife with incestuous relationships_, Jonathan huffed as he pressed the towel to Vanessa's palm.

"Almost time to join us," he said soothingly while he stared at the vials resting on the night stand. To him, this was just another way to exert power. He could have her back in ten minutes if he so desired, or he could leave her like this until she went mad; the choice was his.

"Soon," he said, squeezing her hand tighter to stop the bleeding because he knew that when all this was over, he wouldn't be able to stay away, not for a month, not even a day. "Nap time is almost over."

He felt satisfied. Though she was silent, Jonathan could almost see her pained expression. He knew her thoughts, knew that he had put her through a hell of his design; unable to comfort or embrace Ava, forced to listen helplessly as her child suffered. For a mother, what could possibly be worse?

Jonathan exhaled and smiled, giving himself a pat on the back for his creativity before he became conciliatory. "She's fine, Vanessa. I barely touched her. The cut on her hand is little more than a scratch. You of all people should know I'm capable of much worse. Besides," he continued as he began to turn towards the child, "she learned her lesson. No further punishment is necessary…,"

When he turned, Ava was on her feet, shuffling towards the door and it alarmed him that she had done so without making the slightest noise. Had he not turned to look at that precise moment, she would have slipped away.

"No you don't," he said, grabbing hold of her sleeve and pulling her towards him. "You're staying right here."

Shock again when Ava discarded the torn garment, leaving it dangling from his clenched fist as she careened off the wall, spun in two complete circles, and vanished into the hallway.

"For Christ's sake," he mumbled, disgusted by the pitiful display and the sound of her falling to the floor a second later told him that when it came to pursuing his uncoordinated daughter, he didn't need to rush.

Sure enough, when he poked his head around the corner, there she was on her hands and knees, padding toward the main hall wearing nothing but a skirt and pink bra.

"Ava, you made a liar out of me," he said jokingly as he followed behind. "And I had just told your mother that no further punishment was in order."

When she reached the door to the main hall, she stood, leaning against the wall for support and when she turned the knob, he put his hand out, holding it shut. She continued to strain but didn't seem to understand why the door refused to budge, she only groaned with frustration at the wasted effort. Operating on a delay of sorts, when she did look in his direction, it took a second or two before she recognized him and when she did, she raised her hand, slapping at him weakly as though he were an apparition.

"Young lady, that's no way to act."

"Go away," she cried, though the words themselves were a bit slurred.

"Come with me, Ava," he ordered, taking her by the arm and dragging her along when she resisted. "It's time for a little father/daughter chat…about truth, and the meaning of life."

Jonathan pulled her through the lab, back into the bedroom, shoving her inside and shutting the door behind him; he didn't lock it, feeling it was unnecessary. Veronica might be marching Mr. Rippner back to the compound at this very moment but during the long years spent in his employ, she had been well trained. She knew the meaning of a closed door; that it meant he was busy working on something or _someone_ and didn't wish to be disturbed. She would make Mr. Rippner wait; possibly allow him to spend his final moments with Vanessa before he met his end and when it came right down to it, Jonathan only needed ten minutes to do what he needed to do. So he shut that door with confidence, feeling a wave of excitement wash over him as she wrapped her arms around her body, looking for comfort, warmth and a semblance of modesty. _Smart to look within herself_, he reasoned. She would find none of those things here.

"But where are we…why?" she babbled incoherently, still struggling against him, fighting the good fight, and if she hadn't run out of layers, who knows, she may have succeeded, but as it stood his grip on her unclothed shoulder was solid.

"This is about honesty and respect," he began, so tired of playing 20 Questions with this girl that he found himself rolling his eyes whenever she spoke, "And you _will_ respect me."

The room looked startlingly appropriate given the situation and the events that were about to transpire. With the windows boarded up, the random rays of sunlight illuminating the dust that hung in the air, and the faint smell of mildew, it felt like the back room of some seedy nightclub where girls Ava's age, sometimes younger, and boys, depending on your tastes, were bought and sold like chattel.

"They were lovers," he said, delighting in the way her downcast head suddenly perked up, unsure of his meaning. He stepped toward her slowly, dragging his feet as well as the words for added effect. "Your mother and your Uncle Jack; they were lovers. Did they ever mention it; did you have your suspicions?"

"No," the frightened young thing whimpered.

"Of course you didn't, Ava. You're far too young to concern yourself with such matters."

Standing in front of her, he raised his hand, allowing his finger to trace along her collar bone. "You thought he was my brother and for the two of them to fall in love; it seems disrespectful, does it not?"

One hand planted firmly on her shoulder, Jonathan brushed the hair from her face, pressing his mouth against her ear, whispering, "and what man could pull the wool over your eyes?"

"I need a new shirt, Daddy," she blurted out in a desperate, albeit, futile attempt to change the subject; emphasizing the last word because she had to know where this was going and thinking he might stop if reminded they were family.

"And I'll make certain you get one…later."

His hand came up, blocking the strike he knew had been coming and like most inexperienced fighters, when one punch was blocked; she followed with another, not even trying to improvise. She even had the nerve to look surprised when he anticipated her movements.

"And now I suppose you'll try to kick me?" he asked, even as he raised a leg to jam said kick.

Then he shoved her again and she sailed backwards, caught completely off guard and unable to stop herself before she hit the wall.

"You're an inexperienced fighter, my love. It's painfully obvious and your tactics might very well be effective against some random thug, but not someone with any degree of marital arts training. For one thing, you flinch before you throw a punch."

He approached her again and she hugged the wall, inching away from him as she moved toward the corner. What sort of protection she hoped to find there was beyond his powers of perception, but he followed her nonetheless. "And you crinkle your nose before you throw a kick, surely, your uncle must have told you that."

To his surprise, she went on the offensive again. As he leaned closer, she frowned and threw her head forward; a pathetic attempt at a head butt and escape. Unfortunately for her, he saw it coming and had already moved his head before she could connect.

"That was also predictable, Ava."

Thwarted at every turn, she quickly fell upon old ways, slapping at him, cowering, crying. It took a moment to get her under control, but maneuvering herself into the corner as she had so foolishly done, made the task that much easier. She could press her back to the wall, shy away from him and hope she'd disappear, but no matter what, he would see her, he could always see her.

"We can fight all day, Ava. You can fight and you will _lose_. The only thing you'll do is waste time. And if I have to resort to physical violence again," he began, straightening her wilted form and pressing the palm of his hand against her forehead, letting the back of her head meet that unforgiving wall, "I can picture you taking a nasty tumble or otherwise injuring yourself."

"Please, daddy, stop…"

"Stop what, Ava? I haven't done anything yet. Are you saying that you're frightened, my dear…something troubling you?" he asked in response, feeling rather nostalgic given the situation they were in and wanting to hear her say the words before they began. _Like your mother before you._

"Please, you're hurting me!"

_Close enough,_ he reasoned, pushing her back again when she lunged forward and licking his lips. "I've hardly laid a hand on you yet."

"No," she cried, swinging her arms at him wildly. "I'd rather…,"

"Die? That's very noble, Ava but we both know you'll wind up like all the others; pleading and doing each and every thing I ask. I do however, admire your spirit."

"You were brilliant," Ava said mournfully, trying to cut him to the quick. "You could have been great, but you decided to become a criminal, a pervert. Anyone could do that," and if her mouth hadn't been so dry, Jonathan was certain she would have tried to spit on him.

"Stop it, Ava. If you fight me, you won't like the outcome. Do I have to explain to you the cumulative effects of head injuries and how fragile your mind is right now? One nasty spill and life as you know it is over. You could lose all control; end up in a bed right next to your mother in need of round the clock medical attention. Tell me, my dear; would you like _me_ to care for you? Would you like to be rendered helpless? I don't think that's what you want."

"No…I don't want that," she said with tearful eyes and trembling lips.

"Then tell daddy you're sorry."

"I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry, l-let me go."

"Soon, Ava," he said, toying with those straps, those delicate pink strips of fabric that complimented her tan skin so nicely. "There's just one more thing."

"What? What do you want?"

"I want to see how my little girl is coming along. Show me that much and I'll leave you be."

"No," she said, the fear strong but the humiliation even stronger.

"I am being uncharacteristically kind here, Ava. I'm giving you an out. Don't, don't be stupid. It's a minor concession."

"No, it's not minor. You can't do this…you're my _father_."

"A technicality," he snapped, angry with her for having no sense, not taking the olive branch he'd so graciously offered. "The game goes on then."

Reaching forward, he yanked at her bra, admiring the undergarment and its subtle touches; pink lace, a tiny white bow in the center and most importantly, a clasp in the front – the kind that were easily removed.

She tried to stop him and again, if she had been willing to make a concession; a momentary bit of exposure in exchange for her freedom, or at the very least, a well timed upper cut while his hands were occupied, she could have walked out of here. But she wasn't capable of smart choices and instead of lashing out at him while he was vulnerable; she fought to keep herself covered, so afraid that he would see her, and looking as though she were about to faint.

A sudden dash for freedom, quickly squashed, a gasp or two and that was it. Ava turned her head, giving in, sobbing as he slid those straps down her shoulders and removed the article of clothing all together.

"Was that so hard?" he asked, pressing his hand against the center of her bare chest to feel that thundering heartbeat. "I want to feel you, give you experience, make you mine. I want that very much." He could barely finish the sentence, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her, naked from the waist up. "You are beautiful to say the least."

She gagged when he said the words, most likely thinking they were meant to seduce, though nothing could be further from the truth.

Jonathan always kept his eyes on her, no exceptions; even when he bent forward, wanting to be closer, he kept an eye trained on her, only stopping when he reached his destination and his mouth made contact with her breast. Her body heaved again, causing him to look upward and into her wide, profusely watering eyes. This was more than just a young girl frightened to her wits end; she was nauseous. Could be a symptom of her concussion, he deduced and decided to slow things down a bit.

"Why?" she kept repeating. "After what happened in the alley…why would you help me and then do this?" Such a poignant insight; the girl was a budding psychiatrist if he did say so himself and given the circumstances, well composed.

"Hmmm," he mumbled, his hand rubbing his chin feigning deep thought. "It does seem strange, doesn't it? In fact, my actions would be contradictory if you had ever been in any real danger."

Stunning revelations that took people's breath away; he loved them, and this one left her floored. He hadn't even finished yet and already she was sputtering and for some reason, he was reminded of the parrots in the window of that squalid exotic pet store on Main Street; the one that offered pets and anything else one might desire if they had the right amount of money. But like any unruly pet, she wouldn't shut up…why, why, why? A less tolerant man would not have taken the time to explain these things to her.

"They worked for me. I had them follow you, had them track your movements including the foolish shortcuts you took. Of course they never knew they were going to die, I left that part out, but it made me seem awfully heroic. All that paired with my heartfelt letters and your mother's total inability to accept the truth, and you were putty in my hands."

"Why?"

"I thought you were capable of independent thought, Ava. Must I spell everything out for you? There are several reasons and it is not a complicated matter; to hurt your mother, to beat _him_ to it, because I'm your father and I demand your admiration, and finally, because I'm tense and you're available."

She screamed, attempted to get away, but he was ready for that, catching her in his arms and throwing her back against the wall before she took so much as a single step.

"Don't get so upset, Ava. I have no intention of doing that now."

He took a step back, giving her some room, ever mindful that he had to get the show on the road; his guest would be here any minute.

"Something like that deserves time, time I won't have unless I make him wait, but that would be foolish and I am not a foolish man," he said, taking her in, and feeling eager to get to it. "How to know if you're as pure as I've been led to believe, Ava? Prove it to me."

"No," she hollered, wiping the tears from her eyes and smearing mascara across her face. Something about that excited him; increased her beauty tenfold.

So taken was he, that he couldn't respond. Instead he slipped off his suit coat and tossed it on the floor, followed quickly by his tie; the attire much too formal for his current lifestyle but he had tried more casual fashion in the past – nothing ever felt right.

"You're your own worst enemy, just like your mother," he told her when he had shed a few layers and felt more comfortable. "You wouldn't suffer nearly as much if you would learn to follow orders."

"No, no, no," she kept repeating. Apparently that was her new word of choice.

"You keep pushing me, testing my will power; do you secretly want me to fail?" he asked, pushing her skirt up around her thighs and feeling the soft material of her tights, rubbing that fabric between his thumb and index fingers. He found himself enamored with the texture; at once smooth and coarse – was it a wool blend? Given the season, that would be practical. Regardless, he took them from her, along with her panties, casting them to the floor and finding it curious that even as she stood there, so close to being fully exposed, she didn't try to hold her skirt down, or cover her breasts; of all the places they could have traveled, her hands covered her face. But not her eyes, no, he wouldn't have allowed that. He would not be shut out or ignored while he was proving a point.

Her hands covered her mouth and nose, fingers angled upward like a steeple; and this was an appropriate time to pray. Her eyes, however, were wide because she knew damn well that there was no salvation, not anymore.

"Are you curious about my touch? Is that why you tease me the way you do?"

Another staggered breath from her and he began to wonder if, in the face of this temptation, would he be capable of restraint? He'd been called over zealous in the past and that was true, try as he might, he could not deny it and this girl with her immaculate skin – a flawless vision – made him ache.

Leave it to fate, he decided, as he unbuckled his pants and let them fall to his ankles.

That was better. Now he could think; free from the confines of his clothing, the longing subsided just enough and he was able to summon a bit of much needed restraint.

"I'll have to admit that I am very curious about you."

Filled with vivid fantasies of all shapes and sizes, his mind began to wander, thinking about the future with her, that she captivated him every bit as much as her mother, and that both of them would be his and his alone. That realization gave him the power to wait, to hold off until the time and setting were right.

But that certainly didn't mean that all forms of gratification had been taken off the table. Sex was a powerful tool, one that came in many forms and when used properly, could leave a person shattered. When her eyes went dead in the face of his attentions, Jonathan would know that lesson had been learned and learned well. Nothing pleased him more than the distinct gaze of emotional detachment; something he saw in the eyes of all the men and women he broke because there came a time where the only rescue, the only way to protect ones psyche, was to disconnect; seek refuge behind a veil of apathy.

Mr. Rippner knew that look as well; he was hardly a saint even if Vanessa and Ava seemed to worship him like a God. He had been directly responsible for the deaths of men, women and children and yet, he was held in such high regard, loved because there was a shred of morality left in him. Jonathan had been and always would be baffled by that concept but more than ready to exploit it. When Rippner saw his niece, battered, broken and distant, he would _know,_ and his emotionally stunted heart would break. A perfect plan; it would culminate with Rippner's death, which Jonathan would make certain Ava witnessed, and after that, the true celebrations could begin.

Telling himself to stay focused, to remain present in the moment, he realized that Ava had not responded to him. Having gifted her with the knowledge that she was desired, it was rude to say nothing back. No matter, he decided, her eyes said it all, far-away and waiting, exactly what he'd been hoping for. So intimidated and frightened that she couldn't even move, his stare alone rendered her immobile. There was no greater power to be had, no greater sense of satisfaction. Whatever disjointed, childish words she had for him were irrelevant.

"I want you to touch me, Ava," he commanded, because he knew at this point, she would do anything for him if only out of fear.

Of course, she needed a bit of prodding; rarely are things that easy, but in testament to just how demoralized she was, when he issued a particularly cutting gaze, her hands dropped away from her face. Reaching forward with her right hand, shaking so badly that an outside observer would think she was in the throws of a seizure, _or standing on a live wire_, she touched him, recoiling immediately when she found him more than ready to receive her ministrations.

"Try again," he ordered. "I know you have it in you."

"Daddy…,"

"Of course you can," he interjected, cutting her off before she could finish the excuse. He would have none of it.

"But, I've never done it before. I…I don't know how."

She was blushing and he wondered why that was; was it his request, or her admission that had left her so red?

"Don't know how? For Christ's sake, Ava," he began, grabbing that shaky hand and forcing her to hold him. "It's not rocket science. I know you're a smart girl; make daddy proud."

Sniveling all the while, and in desperate need of a tissue, she began, her less than skillful hands sliding over his smooth skin in a shuddering motion. Jonathan held her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him and remain upright when he felt her knees buckle. He licked his lips, staring her down, looking at her dancing eyes, quivering lips and that appealing mouth, which hung open ever so slightly, conjuring up even more illicit fantasies on his part. And why stop there? He looked at her, in her entirety; to her chest, the curve of her hips, still developing, but nicely formed. Her wool skirt had fallen again, draping her, and what lay beneath caused _him_ to shudder with excitement and momentarily ignore her poor technique. But it _was_ awful, simply awful. Like the scientist he was, he observed the action; her tiny little hand wrapped around him, well, her thumb and index finger to be exact, as if she were signaling that everything was 'OK'. She slid her hand back and forth, back and forth, never altering her pressure or her method; it was the sorriest hand job he'd ever received. The fact that she so desperately wanted to please him notwithstanding, if he allowed things to continue on like this, they would be here all day.

"Ava," he said, still watching her hands. "You really don't have a clue, do you?"

He didn't have to look up, he felt her shake her head 'no' before he took his hands away.

"Shh," he whispered, to quell the movement when she jumped as his hand disappeared beneath that pleated skirt. "Allow me to demonstrate."

How long had it been since he'd last set foot inside a classroom? Almost two decades, which made it all the more impressive when he slipped back into the role of Professor Crane effortlessly. It would seem that in their new lives together, he would be wearing many hats.

"Our bodies may be different from an anatomical stand point, that much is obvious, but you're smart enough to know that no man or woman enjoys a heavy handed touch. You need to use finesse. It is, after all, a sensitive area."

He slid his hand along her upper thigh, taking the time to knead and caress the well toned flesh.

"Anticipation; don't dive in, make them wait for it," he advised as he reached her center.

He didn't act immediately, thus proving his point. Instead he stroked her, rubbing his hand back and forth with a certain elegance that came only through experience. Still, he never parted _those_ lips; he skimmed across her surface, never intruding.

"Draw it out until they burn for release. Anything worth having is worth waiting for," he continued, kissing her neck and hearing her groan in anything but ecstasy when his fingers found that little bundle of nerves between her legs and massaged it gently.

"A sample, Ava. You don't need to thank me."

With his hand grasping the back of her head, he kissed her deeply and when his first two fingers slipped inside, he captured her anguished cry.

"But wait, what's this?" he asked, when he probed further, driving against her hard, seeing and feeling her wince. "You _are_ a woman of virtue; if I had known it was such a special occasion, I would have clipped my fingernails."

Her knees buckled again, and what happened afterward was amusing; she sank down towards the floor and, seizing the opportunity, he went deeper, bringing his thumb into the effort, rubbing against her in a circular motion as his fingers continued to work. She yelped, her hips rocked forward then away, and he knew at that very moment, she'd been broken. "Stop, stop it," she pleaded, sounding more like a child than a girl on the verge of adulthood. "It hurts."

"My own daughter, the last virgin in Gotham," he cracked. "That makes it even more enjoyable."

Now their celebration really would be meaningful and with another sharp poke he gave her a sample of things to come; the pain she would feel tonight when old scores had been settled and he pushed her down, hiked her skirt and tore through that flimsy barrier.

"Lesson learned, try again," Jonathan demanded, withdrawing his fingers and offering no guidance, only an expectant stare.

Ava had nothing to say, without so much as a tearful glance, she began again, following his pointers and proving that she caught on quickly. For his part, he went about his business, hamming it up, making this task every bit as traumatic as he felt it needed to be. He moaned, rocked against her and permitted his hands to explore her body freely and, most of all, gently because he was feeling affectionate now, as he always did when he was _winning_.

And when the time came, when he reached his highest point, he didn't let her pull away. She was required to stay in her place, standing helplessly as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close while he climaxed; the byproduct of his orgasm spilling onto her hand, forearm and stomach.

"Oh, oh God," she began to wail, looking at herself and the mess he'd left behind. When he stepped away, she fell to her knees, breaking her fall with her hands. His power, his will, had been the only thing keeping her upright.

She remained by his feet sobbing while he watched, his fingers toying distractedly with her hair.

"Time to clean up, Ava. Seminal fluid, if allowed to dry, is exceptionally difficult to remove."

She assumed that he meant her, since she had bore the brunt of his appreciation and she looked up at him, half expecting him to pass her a towel. When he grabbed the back of her head again, she appeared horrified, but like the rest of her emotions, it quickly faded away.

"No," she said in that same timid voice; her statement sounding more like a question than a refusal. As if she still had rights and choices, she clamped her mouth shut when he pressed against her and demanded she return him to his pristine state. "You only have to use your tongue," he offered, but she wasn't heartened by the words. He liked her this way; she still had some spirit, presented a bit of a challenge, but not too much and they both knew it was only a matter of time before she gave in to his demands.

When the clever idea dawned on him, Jonathan pinned her shoulders to the wall with his knees and used his fingers to pinch her nose shut.

"That mouth can't stay shut forever," he teased, almost singing at that point because he was so elated as to be giddy, unable to control his laughter in the face of this decadent game. The game he was _forcing_ her to play; there could be no greater sin. So much for those last traces of humanity; Dr. Crane, if he'd ever truly existed, was gone and Ava was at Scarecrow's mercy now.

He would wait for her, it wouldn't be long and when she opened her mouth to beg, scream or gasp for air, he would silence her; her stubbornness and lack of cooperation having forced him to up the ante.

Later, after she had licked him clean and finished the job, he would give her the torn sweater, but that would be all. He wanted her to be seen. In fact, he would even allow Mr. Rippner to hold his niece one last time before he died; see, maybe feel that conspicuous white crust on her stomach and hands – he would know what it was. Let him see her eyes; a look such as that could not be manufactured and he would go to his grave knowing that he'd failed.

And what about Ava? What would she be like, one, two, even three years down the line? Would she travel Vanessa's path; airing on the side of peace and light and all that hogwash? Or would she end up like Veronica; perched atop a mountain of hurt, always ready with a quick 'fuck you' if anyone got too close, anyone but him that is.

He told himself not to be concerned with those matters; time would tell and as long as she was that same scared, little girl when she shared his bed, he would be content and he had a feeling that if that was indeed the case, he would visit her often.

Then it happened, she opened her mouth. "I'll do it," she conceded, while gasping for air and turning her head just enough to avoid his forward thrust. Finding a lick or two preferable to taking on the whole of him, she said it again in despair, "I'll do it."

"Then don't delay," he responded, growing quite fond of her now that she was being agreeable. "Cleanliness is next to godliness."

Oh, he was being so cruel to her. One might say it was over the top, but no matter what, she had consented to his request and that alone, spoke volumes as to the control he had over her. She could have fought for her dignity, but she chose to cave in; weak, just like the others. Left hollowed by his hedonism.

"I don't think I need to tell you what will happen should you decide to bite me," he added, just to be safe. Then that little mouth went to work, even if the contact lasted for less than three seconds. Finding the bitter taste disagreeable, she gagged yet again.

If he had it to do over, he would have told her to stop at that point, but no, he pushed her, went too far; a bad habit of his, one that had grown in intensity after teaming up with his jocular colleague. For a girl like her, pure as the driven snow, the flavor was no doubt vile and he should not have dismissed that intense chocking sound. A horrible mistake on his part because shortly thereafter, Ava lurched forward, her entire body heaved and before he could step away, she vomited, depositing the meager contents of her stomach – the remnants of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and some juice, the meal he'd given her, onto his pants and shoes.

Now this was problematic.

Ava burst into tears and curled into a ball like a pathetic thing, and briefly, he just stood there, trying to process what she'd done.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

Again and again Jonathan told himself to remain calm even as he cursed her existence and the endless aggravation it caused. Being a doctor, he'd seen his fair share of vomit in his day, but this was an entirely new experience. Never before had he been a target of such a projectile, never before had he felt sickness squish between his toes with every step he took and as he made his way toward the bathroom he walked gingerly, trying not to slip and fall. On his way, he grabbed an extra pair of socks and pants from the dresser, this having been his sleeping quarters before he had so graciously allowed her to stay with him, and he was thankful for the change of clothes, the old clothing was without a doubt, unsalvageable.

It wasn't so bad, he told himself. Nothing but the further exchange of bodily fluids, nothing to get upset about, he was still a doctor, capable of handling incidents such as these, although the stench of it made him gag once or twice as he peeled his socks off and threw them into the garbage can.

He couldn't see her at the moment, but he could hear her pitiful cries, full of misery after being so degraded, and if she got up, tried to run again, he would see her. She wouldn't get far. As a result, he used his ears more than his eyes to keep tabs on her.

"I want to go home," she yelled suddenly, catching him off guard, but standing on one foot, the other being rinsed in the sink, he ignored the plea. Faced with his dismissal, she quieted down, resorting to sobs as he cleaned the other foot.

Feeling one hundred percent better now that he'd redressed and washed the sick away, he smiled in the mirror, listening as she called out over and over again that she was sorry. No apologies were needed. This was good, what she had done was actually good; what a sight she was, just waiting for her uncle to come and visit.

"I threw up," she cried.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," he responded, shutting off the bathroom light and feeling complete happiness.

When he crossed the threshold, something hit him in the face, _hard_. He saw stars and the blow sent him sprawling back with a steady stream of blood pouring from his nose.

Landing on his backside, he could see his attacker's shadow, if not his face. That wasn't necessary; Jonathan knew his identity and as Mr. Rippner lunged for him calling him every name in the book – pervert, pedophile, rapist – he tried to ready himself, suddenly realizing that his small canister of fear toxin, the one he always kept with him for just such an occasion, was currently nestled in the pocket of his discarded pants.

_Oh dear, it appears we'll have to do this the old fashioned way…_


	20. Chapter 19

"_Why do you always go into hiding whenever you ace a test?" her uncle asked as he came up behind her, playfully snatching the folded piece of paper from her grasp and taking a peak despite her protests. "And a chemistry exam, no less! Come on, you should be proud of this, Angel, not embarrassed."_

_She hated it when he acted like this but somehow knew that it wasn't intentional, just part of who he was. He didn't mean to be dismissive, nobody did, when they told her to, 'suck it up', 'be proud' and whatever else came to mind before they began another one of their pep talks. Today was different though. His words lacked their usual optimism. They seemed strained, melancholy._

"_Easy for you to say, you're over the age of fifteen," she replied, grabbing the paper back and tucking it into her bag. "Something's different about you. Did you change your hair?"_

_He looked different somehow, but it was understated; a disparity she was unable to put her finger on. Something about the way he walked, the overall way he carried himself; like his usual self…almost. But the hair, she knew for a fact that the hair was different, a little shorter, more professional and appropriate if you asked her. Personally, she had never worn bangs for any lengthy period of time, couldn't stand constantly having to brush the hair away from her face. For the life of her, she didn't know how he could have tolerated that shaggy haircut for…how long had it been?_

"_I did, Angel. I've got a meeting in Manhattan tomorrow. Gotta look the part," he said, running his fingers through his hair._

_That explained it. He always got a bit harried before a trip, or a job, as he so often and vaguely put it. Oh well, she mused, he still had the presence of mind to get on her case. Come hell or high water, nothing could stop him from doing that._

_Everything was dreadfully normal. She would walk home, hand her test to her mother who would give her a big hug and tell her how proud she was. She would go to bed feeling great, feeling accomplished and tomorrow she would wake up, go to school and try to turn a deaf ear to the taunts that always came her way whenever report cards were issued, or whenever she blew the curve for that matter; nerd, bookworm. That's how it would start, but it wouldn't end with those less hurtful barbs. It never did._

"_Don't worry about all that, Angel. Years from now, those kids will spend the majority of their time at the local watering hole, perpetually unemployed, surrounded by beer, buddies and nothing else."_

"_That's awfully philosophical of you, Uncle Jack," she laughed, wondering when her uncle had become so darned wordy. "I guess that Encyclopedia Britannica I got you for Christmas is really paying off."_

"_I guess so," he chuckled._

_They walked in silence, uncharacteristic of her chatterbox uncle, but given her own somber mood she let it pass. It was unusually warm that day. It didn't feel at all like a typical autumn in Gotham; it felt more like summer, her favorite time of year, when the school year was over, not just beginning. On they went, her uncle taking a deep breath every now and then, savoring the infrequently clean air that filled the city on this day and for a little while, she forgot her troubles._

_When they reached the front door of her apartment building, she started up the stairs, stopping when he didn't follow._

"_Aren't you coming in, Uncle Jack?" she asked. He had to come in, he always came in._

"_Not today, Angel. I've got to get going, I'll be heading out tonight. You know how traffic can be."_

"_Oh….okay, then I'll see you when you get back."_

"_You can count on it," he responded, reaching forward and pulling her to him, about to give her his customary good bye hug and kiss on the cheek. _

_She leaned into him, issuing a contented sigh of her own because he had a knack for making her feel better. _

"_Have a good trip, Uncle Jack."_

_It should have ended there, but apparently, her uncle really was feeling a tad melancholy today. He lingered there with her in his arms, holding her close to the point where she started to pull away, feeling the urge to say, 'Uncle Jack, there's a time for a hug to end," but before she could do that he whispered in her ear,_

"_Hang in there, Ava. It won't be long now."_

_At the time she had simply assumed he was referring to her teenage years or high school in general. He was falling back on old ways, dusting off those tried and true axioms; hang in there, time flies and every other well intended but futile adage he could think of. She secretly longed for the days when his defense of her had been more proactive; bullying a man until he wet himself for instance, but he didn't do that anymore; her mother's gentle influence no doubt. And it was true that the laws of civility dictate she thumb her nose at such despotic actions, but it had never been satisfying to turn the other cheek. Not for her, at least._

"_Thanks, Uncle Jack," she said, kissed him on the cheek and watched him walk away, looking more rigid than she'd ever seen him before even as he whistled a joyful tune. What a sight he was, a walking contradiction, strange._

_Opening her front door, she stepped inside, finding the apartment silent. Ava pinned her exam to the refrigerator before doing a quick scan of their home, wondering if her mother had fallen asleep because it was unusual for her to not be there when she got out of school. _

_The light on their answering machine was blinking, indicating one message had been missed. Must be Mom, she thought as she pressed the button, hearing her uncle's familiar voice instead._

"_Hey ladies, it's me. Just wanted to say hello, find out how Ava did on her exam. I'm in New York now, but I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. I'll give you a call when I get in. Take care."_

"_What the hell, I thought the meeting was tomorrow?' she muttered and he had already seen her test, why make a follow up phone call? She picked up the phone, intent on calling Uncle Jack and finding out once and for all if she had either completely misinterpreted their conversation, imagined it altogether, or if he were by any chance going senile._

_She dialed the number. The phone rang once, twice, and she tapped her foot impatiently until his answering machine picked up. _

"_Hey, Uncle Jack, it's me. Listen, I….."_

_Before she could finish the front door was kicked open, followed by a grunt and a series of heavy footsteps that caused her to jump. She peered down the hall with the phone clenched firmly in her hand and a lump in her throat. _

_There was her mother, her diminutive mother, standing there with her house keys clenched in her teeth and her arms loaded to overflowing with grocery bags._

"_Give me a hand, Munchkin," was her exasperated plea. Garbled words that made Ava smile and lose her train of thought._

"_Never mind, Uncle Jack, I'll call you later. Mom just got back from the store and well, it ain't pretty. Bye."_

_And she just had to give him that explanation before she hung up the phone. A man like him, prone to worrying would go into a panic if he came home to a cut off message. For better or worse, Ava could never say she wasn't loved and cared for. _

_She relieved her mother of half her shopping bags and shut the door, locking it behind them, not knowing that tomorrow would bring another fight at school and another trip to the principal's office. That she would spend the day trying to kill time, not wanting to go home because her mother would be looking for explanations for her behavior and she would have none. She would see her Uncle Jack's reflection in a shop window and it would be unexpected. She would follow him and see his true vocation._

_And compared to what the future had in store for her, childhood taunts and teenage hell would seem like paradise._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ava had finally seen her father's true colors and they had sent her reeling.

"Pathetic….imbecile," he admonished, the hateful words sounding civilized with the haughty air he attached to every syllable, as though she were the one at fault. But there was more to it than a verbal lashing. Though his eyes indicated he thought she was low, unworthy of his time, the remnants of lust she saw, still faintly visible, had probably always been there, clearly seen by all but her heretofore blind eyes, told her that this wasn't over, he was far from finished with her.

Horrible scenarios coursed through her mind, beginning with her scratching, kicking, biting, doing everything she could to fight him off each time he came for during the nights that lay ahead, and ending at the point when she would just lay there, broken – still terrified – but unable to struggle, chocking back her tears while she prayed for it to end.

Ava trembled and began to sob, wondering if that would indeed be her fate, now that her uncle had been apprehended or would her father grow bored once he had his hands on the people he had so cleverly pursued all these years? After a while, would he put them on the shelf like trophies and move onto the next obsession? Which would be worse, which would bring about a quicker end; his unfettered attentions or his scornful lack of concern?

He walked away from her, kicking off his pants and tip toeing across the room, shooting her one unbearable glance after another. The sight of him naked from the waist down made everything very real even if her anxious mind couldn't comprehend why; the things he had done to her, the things he had made her do, the horrible acrid taste in her mouth from when she'd vomited, still powerful, but unable to stave off the memory of the bitter taste that had been there only moments before.

She brought her hands up to shield her eyes; trying to block the memories as though they could ever be wiped away or forgotten. Her fingers turned claw like, scratching at her face, pulling her hair. Her head pounded, felt as if it would explode. She would welcome physical pain to this, anything but this.

Would the feelings ever subside, she wondered. The indescribable sinking feeling; would it haunt her for the rest of her days, until she was vacant and numb, as anyone else who had been so degraded would feel?

"I want to go home."

The voice was so timid and downhearted. Like a fool she thought, _wished_, for a moment that she could return to the days where she would come home from a hard day at school, talk to her mother, curl up in bed and pretend none of it had happened. She would wake up in the morning and start all over again; a return to normality would make it better.

Finding only pain in her illusion, Ava knew all too well that fantasy wouldn't work this time, couldn't wish it away. Just like no matter how hard she scrubbed at the now cold and clammy fluid spread across her hand, lower arm and stomach it would never be enough. It was gone, having been transferred to her tights – the only piece of fabric within her fragile grasp – but she could still feel its presence. He was inside her head now.

"Go away, go away," she thought, while a scream welled up inside of her; the start of her own particular madness. Had she been ruined, been stripped of her innocence?

No, she realized. Innocence was about the choices we made, not the things that were thrust upon us. As her uncle had often said, some things are beyond our control.

Taking heart in that, Ava looked around and did her best to think clearly. Run, she had to run; there was nothing else to do. He hadn't responded to her tearful plea, his back was turned, so self-involved and repulsed by what she'd done that he had all but dismissed her. She couldn't allow his one mistake to pass, no matter how desolate she felt inside.

Ava lurched forward, crawling on her hands and knees because every inch of her body ached. She moved to stand but her tight muscles said otherwise and a particularly unsympathetic spasm in her back, a direct result of his forceful kicks, pulled her down. It was at that point that she knew she wouldn't make it, that she _couldn't_ make it; a crushing failure.

Pain had thwarted her escape attempt, now despair kept her glued to the floor, virtually naked, staring helpless at a pool of her own vomit, waiting for the monster to come back and knowing that she had failed her mother.

"I'm sorry," she kept repeating.

When the door creaked, she looked up in a panic, frightened by who and what she saw until she recognized the differences between the two men; something that weeks before she had been unable to see. The man crossing the room now, making no sound at all as he removed his suit coat had too much love and sadness in his eyes to ever pass for Jonathan Crane. His mouth hung open in shock, taking in the sight of her. Feeling the scrutiny, Ava wrapped her arms tighter around her body. She drew her legs in close, feeling a painful twinge from another area that had fallen victim to her father's affection.

"I'm sorry," she said again. Sorry for not listening to the warnings, sorry for believing the words and false promises of a mad man, for being weak, sorry for everything.

He draped the coat over her huddled form and helped her to her feet, watching her father compose himself the whole time, looking at her only briefly to shake his head 'no', a silent reassurance that none of this was her fault. There would be no victim blaming this day.

"I threw up," was all she could say.

From his expression, she knew what he had to be thinking; that the absolute worst had happened. She didn't want to tell him exactly what had occurred, there was no time to do so, but she wanted him to know that it had stopped, that she hadn't been forced to do _that_.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," her father called from the bathroom, using a tone more sarcastic than any she had ever heard.

And her uncle hardened at the sound of that voice. Ava felt the change, heard the sudden intake of breath and he pushed her towards the bed gently.

"Hide, Ava, quick."

With no time, and few options, she ignored her body's aching protests and climbed under the bed, watching her uncle's feet as he walked away from her and stood just to the side of the bathroom door.

When her father shut off the lights and crossed the threshold, all hell broke loose.

Uncle Jack flew into a rage, knocking her father to the ground, kicking at him so violently that he never had any hope of defending himself. Instead he tried to sweep Uncle Jack's legs out from under him, a wasted effort against a more experience opponent who could easily anticipate the moves of his adversary, and when that failed he rolled forward, taking a few kicks to the back but reaching his discarded trousers and the small canister of toxin she knew was hidden in the back pocket.

Still on the floor and at her level, she saw his profile, his confidence as he reached forward and pointed that canister at his attacker. She wanted to call out a warning, but held her tongue. Ava had been told many tales about her past. Each version held but a glimmer of truth but by all accounts, no matter their relation or lack thereof, her uncle knew this man very well. He wouldn't have gotten this far if that weren't true. The way his smile faded when Uncle Jack took a challenging step forward, refusing to back down, proved it.

"How…?" her father started before he reached his own conclusions and fell silent.

"Took it off one of your guards," Uncle Jack said, his voice sounding muffled and taking the chance, overcome by curiosity, she poked her head out for an instant and saw the mask upon his face seconds before her father rushed him.

They grappled, moved in a circle so many times that she couldn't tell by their legs alone who was who any longer. Holding her breath and at times, closing her eyes, Ava waited, feeling a surge of panic when someone hit the floor with a thud less than a foot from her hiding place.

Their eyes met and time stopped. Who was this disheveled man?

Moving toward her with worry in his eyes, he reached out in a pleading gesture; she hung back, afraid to move.

"Ava, you're still here." Words spoken with a doctor's formality, his identity was revealed; then he pounced.

He came at her, trying to work his way under the bed because she was the only thing he had left, his sole bargaining chip.

"No," she yelled and kicked at his outstretched hand as if his very touch was toxic and truly she never wanted to feel his hands on her body again.

But it never came to that. The triumphant smirk that crossed his face when he touched her ankle was fleeting, wiped clean when Uncle Jack pulled him away. The tide had shifted; the winning man now being upset at every turn. Ava knew that pain. She had experienced it herself while she begged for his nonexistent mercy. She felt next to nothing as his fingers clawed at the floor, desperately trying to find purchase where there was none. What she saw on his face in that moment, as he was dragged further away from her, was fear.

He had every right to feel that way considering what happened next. A flurry of punches and kicks rained down upon him and she heard him cry out in pain. His bottom lip split open causing blood to trickle down his chin making him look like a pathetic, wretched thing and it only escalated from there. The assault continued and she watched from floor level, thankful that she couldn't see her uncle's face, knowing that he was hell-bent on killing her father, reveling in it.

It seemed like it would never end, and finally she turned her head and covered her ears.

"Stop," she begged when the voices fell silent but the violence continued. In her mind enough was enough.

Hands touched her again. She yelped and scurried away, not wanting to look.

"Come on out, Angel. It's okay." Her uncle's soothing voice brought her out of her panic. She saw him there, signaling her to come closer, a certain sense of urgency upon his face.

His eyes had changed again. Here was a man torn between two roles, balancing fury, an ardent need for revenge, with responsibility. Ava took his hand and gradually emerged from under the bed. Despite her father's silence, she couldn't look in his direction; a man that, even while unconscious, terrified her.

"Ava," he said, scanning the room and realizing that choices were scant, his grip on his own emotions tenuous at best. "Go…go to your mother. Wait for me there."

"But…"

"Go to your mother; take care of her until I come back. You shouldn't see this." The words were non-threatening if not gentle, but regardless, she knew there was no room for argument.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to stop this, all of it."

He turned to her, shuffling her out of the room.

"But what if…?" she began, stopping when she thought of the possibilities.

"What if what?"

"What if you don't come back?"

"I will," he answered, completely self assured as if there were no other alternative.

She looked at her uncle's face one last time before he shut the door. Another metamorphosis, a different man, a colder man, and she knew that she would never see her biological father again.

Was this right, was this justice, she wondered.

Yes, given the circumstances, this twisted time and place, she considered whatever punishment her father received to be just.

She walked through the darkened lab with her head held high, no longer a prisoner to her phobia. If she had learned one thing throughout all this it was that there was nothing to fear from the dark itself. It was the cleverly hidden monsters, lurking around in broad daylight that you needed to worry about.

There was a soothing relief to be found in her loses, all of them. With nothing left to fear she finally had a chance to rest.

Through the lonely corridor she went, turning right and entering her mother's room.

"Mom, I'm…okay," she whispered, touching that silent but seemingly tormented countenance. "I'm okay."

The heart rate monitor continued its' hectic beat, Ava's words providing little comfort to the other woman that knew Jonathan Crane's true nature, but there was nothing else that could be done or said at this point.

It was then she noticed that the room had changed. The cell phone her father had thrown on the bed, the vials he'd placed on the nightstand, the journal she had seen on that same table for the briefest of moments before the ordeal had begun, they were all missing.

True to his word, when her uncle had said he would put a stop to all of this, he had meant it and it would appear as though he had a plan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Note: At long last I have updated this story. Hard to believe it's been too months already! **

**This is part one of Jackson's revenge. Part two will follow as quickly as possible, but this confrontation has been a long time coming. It has to be done right. lol**

**Thank you all for your patience and taking the time to read and/or review.**


	21. Chapter 20

_A year passed, which he found almost impossible to believe. The old axiom, 'time flies when you're having fun', was meant for people who were content with their lives. When one was miserable, life was long._

_Just one year? It felt like ten…_

_A year spent standing by helplessly as she pushed him further and further away. She called it setting boundaries; she would accept no money from him, no protection. As far as she was concerned, she and Ava were on their own. They didn't require his presence and she would never ask for help. At her insistence, Jackson waited in the wings, hoping that one day they would need him for something; the fact that they never did hurt even more._

_The break up, if that's what it could be called, went better than expected. In a way, they had both known it was coming; just a matter of time. _

_He had slept late that morning, which also surprised him, but when he woke and walked into the kitchen, watching as Ava ran in circles around the table still wearing her water wings from her Aqua Tots class, he couldn't help but smile. Vanessa, all sixty inches of her, was jumping up and down, trying to reach something on the top shelf to no avail. That scene and all its domesticity made him smile as well. That's where he hid everything, surprise gifts, things she didn't want Ava or him to eat – candy , chips, all the good stuff – pretty much everything, because for her, the world above the second shelf didn't exist._

_When she turned, she smiled back, but when she saw his eyes, she knew; she knew it was over. Painful words were __almost__ unnecessary._

_Vanessa wouldn't allow him to help as she packed up her things. When he offered to put her up in the hotel of her choosing until she found a more permanent residence, she replied, 'no thanks' – a diplomatic way of saying, 'go to hell' – in a tone that only she could muster. Through it all, she never shed a tear, putting on a happy face as she told Ava they were about to go on a grand adventure. _

_He felt like an idiot, watching, following as she went from room to room, gathering the necessities and slowly removing all traces of her presence without bothering to look in his direction or speak a single word. She didn't appear sad, angry; nothing…she gave him nothing._

_The only time she spoke was right before she left. One sentence said it all. One parting decree to make him feel foolish and small; "I hope your money keeps you warm at night, Jack."_

_Then Ava came along to kick him while he was down, as Vanessa left; duffel bag in one arm, her child in the other, that beautiful little girl waved to him with eyes as bright as stars._

"_Bye-bye, see you soon."_

_He had no idea where they had stayed, although he suspected her old buddy Bruce had put her up in his guesthouse, and had more than likely paid for the movers that showed up at his apartment the following afternoon. Pretty generous of the billionaire to go so far out of his way to help a friend or maybe he had taken her back now that she had finally worked Jackson Rippner out of her system. He shuddered at the thought but knew he had no right to find fault. At least Bruce could offer her safety and protection, something Jackson had never been able to truly provide._

_Months passed before he saw her, or maybe months passed before she caught him following her again would be more accurate? That's when the boundaries went into effect; friendship was allowed, stalking was out of the question. Why she had to constantly remind him that was so important was a mystery to him and his pigheaded ego at first. Ultimately he decided that she was both the stronger and the smarter of the two._

_When he did drop by, she was polite, cordial as she always was, even with people he knew she secretly disliked and it bothered him to know that not only might he have been added to that list, but was unable to tell for sure. The only word to describe their meetings was uncomfortable; the disappointment on both sides always shown through, each of them wondering what might have been, should have been, if only he could be different._

_Seeing the two of them in a friendly capacity became nothing short of impossible and as a result, he would visit less frequently as time went by. Eventually the day came when he found himself standing outside her apartment building and for the first time, he sighed and kept right on walking because he didn't have the strength for another visit. After that, it became easy and the face to face visits stopped all together. He spoke to her over the phone and that was even worse because there was no way around the uncomfortable silences in their conversation, no polite smiles, a friendly chuckle or background noise to offer distraction. Lulls in their discussions were downright painful and it was only a matter of time before one night, he picked up the phone, wanting to hear her voice, but hung up before he'd even dialed a number. Let her to call for once, he decided, feeling an inkling of misplaced resentment. In the end, he had no one to blame but himself._

_It seemed as though his life always hinged on a phone call and if they spoke again, candidly, the way they used to; if she asked him one more time to leave his job, run away with them, he would have done it. How could he not?_

_But the phone never rang. _

_He went on with his life feeling frustrated and malcontent because he was the worst kind of fool; stagnant. Waiting for someone else to act, waiting for her to call when, if he'd really had the gumption to do so, he could have taken matters into his own hands. _

_On the quiet evenings – and there were plenty of them – he would lie awake and his thoughts would often drift, not to Vanessa, but to Lisa; the start of it all. When he'd had his little awakening and that pesky little conscience of his had made a comeback. Sometimes he cursed her and the things she had done; causing him to think twice before acting, making him feel compassion in a field where sympathy got you killed, but mostly he remembered her fondly. Still, he wondered where he would be right now if he'd never met her or Vanessa, if he had never known the pain that oftentimes accompanied love, for he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jonathan Crane had never been kept awake at night wondering, hoping that Vanessa still loved him. The good doctor was free of those concerns; in many ways, it was easier to be a monster._

_The control he had over his subordinates ended there; it was a slap in the face when he sat back and realized he wasn't in control of a damn thing, not even his own life. His comings and goings, who he dated, who he could love; that was decided by his employers, always had been, and he still had to show up everyday with a spring in his step and a smile on his face because there was no way out. _

_Six months had passed since he had contact with Vanessa and Ava- tortuous phone calls a thing of the past and even their features, the sounds of their voices, were becoming more and more difficult to recall – and as he hurried along the dark alleyways of the Gotham Docklands, rushing because, for once in his life, he was late, Jackson had never felt so cold, so empty. His mind and his surroundings both twisted places where the sun never shined. No way out, indeed._

_It was unusually cold that evening. Fog rolled off the surface of the water and onto the lonely streets in waves and it wasn't long before Jackson could barely see five feet in front of him and he stepped gingerly, worried that, with one careless footfall, he would walk right off the edge of the pier and then the rest of the world would see what a fool he really was._

_When he arrived at his destination, safe and dry, he found it equally vacant, but in this case, that was surprising. Abandoned trucks, boxes strewn about, but no people to handle the shipment as there should have been. Inclement weather put most people off and kept them indoors, but for people like him, being alone and concealed by Mother Nature was beyond perfect. To find the Docklands actually deserted filled him with dread._

_Full blown raids don't end this way. There's a mess, reporters, there's something other than the eerie silence that filled this place._

"_Shit," he cursed under his breath._

_Immediately suspicious of who was more than likely still here, lurking, waiting for him in particular, he began to back away, fully prepared to turn tail and run until the sound of boards creaking behind him stopped him in his tracks. He spun around seeing nothing but the occasional streetlight burning through the heavy fog and hearing little more than the sounds of boats rocking back and forth on the choppy waters._

"_Damn film noir crap," he thought, laughing to himself fool heartedly at the setting, while simultaneously hoping against hope that all was well. Just a sudden change of plans and he hadn't been notified. That was all. Heavy fog, intrigue, mystery; all he needed now was a trench coat and trademark cigarette to make it good. It was too corny to be real._

"_To hell with this…"_

_Jackson took one step back, all five senses on red alert, and ran into what he thought might be a wall. When he turned, he was enveloped by a cloak of darkness._

_Little did he know the events that followed would bring him, beaten and bloody, right back into the arms of the woman he'd been trying to so hard to leave behind and that he had Jonathan Crane to thank for his continued well being; for if he hadn't known the identity of his attacker, he'd be in prison right now._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He had almost gone, so disturbed by the sight of Vanessa in that hospital bed, lost to him; he had almost turned and left in his debilitating grief. The thought rattled him, always would rattle him for as long as he lived. As time went on, despite his best efforts, Jackson couldn't help but think about what might have happened if Crane had been given an additional ten or even five minutes with his daughter while he stood by the bedside of his greatest love and best friend, grief-stricken and unmoving.

It damn well could have been that way. Thoughts of Ava had momentarily gone by the wayside until he caught site of that bloodly, discarded article of clothing and all that it implied. It affected a startling change in him. Fear, grief; they disappeared. Strangely enough, he found a quiet calm, became cold because that's what he needed to be. If he gave into his emotions, he would lose, and for the first time in his life, he successfully put them on the back burner. If he stayed detached enough to realize that help literally surrounded him at all angles, he could focus and do what was right. His well timed disconnection gave him the ability, not to run through the building shouting Ava's name like a careless birdbrain, but instead to take the phone from Vanessa's lap and bring a more clever plan into action. He prayed that a man like Crane wouldn't have the patience or would consider it a burden to have to dial to get a line out - rules applying to the rank and file, but certainly not to the good doctor - and when he had his answer, Jackson did all that needed to be done quickly; his niece never far from his thoughts.

After he had quickly dispensed with the necessities, he touched Vanessa's face. He stood there for a moment, feeling as though he were being ripped in two; half of him wanting to stay here, with her, to do something, wake her somehow, and the other half chomping at the bit to protect that little girl.

Why couldn't he move, he wondered? Could it be that in his heart of hearts he knew there was a very real possibility he might never see Vanessa again and that getting both of them out of here once the chaos ensued would be nigh on impossible with her lying in a bed, hooked up to life support equipment.

But he forced himself to let go, whatever the outcome may be. He leaned forward, kissed her gently and whispered in her ear a sincere promise that he would protect Ava and settle this once and for all, and then he was off.

Crossing the hall, he opened the door nearest to him. What lay behind was a sparsely decorated office. So bare that at first glance he could survey the entire room. He backed out just as quickly as he'd gone in. Ava wasn't in there.

Jackson walked down the hall and towards the lab, picking up on the droplets of blood that dotted the narrow passage. The trail ended there, just disappeared suddenly and again, had he not kept a level head, he might have missed that semi-concealed door located at the back of the room.

He pressed his ear to that door and heard nothing. Not a whimper, not a plea. He grasped the door handle and opened it with care, mindful not to break the silence because, truly, he knew they were in there and he had to be prepared for whatever circumstances lay in wait.

When the door cracked the sounds came to him. Jackson heard the water running and Ava sobbing uncontrollably.

Stealing himself, he opened the door a bit further and peered inside. The smell hit him straight away. Acrid and terrible, he wasn't daft, he knew what it was and in the corner, he saw Ava, naked from the waist up, wiping at her arms and stomach frantically with a strip of cloth. When she looked up unexpectedly, their eyes met.

"I want to go home," she cried, wrapping her arms around herself.

He couldn't resist. With tunnel vision, he entered the room, already removing his jacket, intent on covering her. He passed the bathroom on his way, catching his second glimpse of Crane in the flesh and Jackson marveled at the fact that no matter how often he saw the man, it always made his skin crawl. Currently, he wasn't much of threat. In fact, his foot was in the sink while he balanced at an awkward angle, washing himself for obvious reasons.

Jackson was tempted to go after him right then and there. He wanted to crush him, feel Crane's flesh tear in his eager hands, rip him apart and scatter the pieces to the four winds. Only then would he know that there would be no return visits from this _thing_. But no, not yet, he had to get Ava out of harms way first.

_Then get your ass in gear and stop wasting time…_

"Shh," he said, speaking in a voice that was lower than a whisper, words barely audible over the exhalation of his breath. "Put this on, Angel."

Then he saw it; first, the strip of cloth she had been holding – her tights – and when he looked closer, he saw her underwear balled up and twisted inside that garment as if they'd been pulled off together. Worse yet, he saw the stains and he knew. The one thing he had feared the most had come to fruition.

He never should have let her go back in that building.

What kind of man could look at a child, his own daughter and become sexually aroused? What kind of pervert….

Never mind, he told himself. He knew exactly the type of man who would do such a thing. As far as motive was concerned, he wasn't meant to understand. Thank God, he _couldn't _understand.

Staying calm was all he was required to do at this moment and that was challenging enough.

"I'm sorry," she kept repeating but he wouldn't accept those misplaced apologies. It didn't matter what she had done, how hard she had fought, if at all, what she had said or not said to get through it. _She_ was not the one at fault. _She_ was not the pedophile.

"I threw up," she said as she struggled to her feet. The sight of her bloody face, the bruises were enough to stoke the fires of rage already burning inside him, but when she turned slightly and he saw it; the red welt nestled between her shoulder blades, shaped curiously like the heel of a man's shoe, he seethed. It was all he could do to hold himself together long enough to make sure she got to safety.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," came an obnoxious reply and when that son of a bitch shut the bathroom lights and stepped into the room, Jackson was ready for him, burying his fist into that smug little face with such fluidity that it felt more like a natural reflex than anything else.

Crane stumbled backward, unable to defend himself against the onslaught and Jackson went after him, kept on him until he was silent and still and Ava begged him to stop.

Now she was safely out of the room and Jackson watched Crane as he lay there, sprawled on the floor about a half inch away from the odorous pool of vomit. Lacking smelling salts, or any other conventional way of bringing the good doctor around, this was the best he could do. He was certain Jonathan would understand.

Sure enough, thirty seconds passed and Crane rolled to his side, recoiling when he saw and smelled the mess and he turned to Jackson for a bewildering moment before looking around the room utterly confused.

"Wondering why you're still alive?" Jackson asked.

"Oh, I know why," he responded, removing a handkerchief from his suit coat and dabbing at his face. "She's lying in that hospital bed. Why else do you think I put her there? Every prudent man carries an insurance policy, Mr. Rippner."

"She's just a child, she's…" he started before the contempt and the uselessness of the words caused him to hold his tongue.

"Naïve," Crane fired back, because she had dared to believe him and Jackson should have known better than start in with a guilt trip. "Spare me the lecture."

"You're right. I don't need the words. I feel better just looking at you now. You're a joke, a sick, twisted joke."

"A joke," Crane began, inching away from that pool of vomit until Jackson's stern expression and raised fists told him to go no further. "You trying to come off as any sort of moral authority…that, my friend, is a joke."

Even now, the pleasantries didn't cease. Polite to the very end; and for the beating he'd received, Jackson noted that Crane had recovered surprisingly fast. Then again, he'd taken more than his fair share of punches and kicks over the years. If he hadn't turned into such a debased psychopath, Jackson might have pitied him but no, Crane had risen about it all, leaving the Narrows far behind and achieving more success by his early thirties than most people do in a life time. But he always had to have more and in his quest for power he'd sunk far lower than the weak minded children who used to taunt him in his youth.

Crane had earned the fate that awaited him and, right or wrong, Jackson was enjoying the moment.

"You're like a one trick pony. Can't you think of something more original than rape?"

"Rape," Crane huffed. "We always have been at odds on this matter, haven't we? Degradation, humiliation, they're tools to be used like any other."

Offended by the comment as Jackson knew he would be, the doctor went on, doing his best to explain his actions as though what had happened in this room needed clarification. "You say I lack originality. Tell me, ten years…fifteen years down the line when she wakes up crying in the night, when the lessons I instilled force her to withdraw, will you still think of my methods as old school? How can you of all people say I lack imagination?"

Jackson laughed right in his face, not what Crane had expected certainly but he was about to find that a lot of things weren't going to go as planned.

"It won't be that way," Jackson said matter-of-factly and before Crane could respond the rumble of engines rang through the air, causing the very building to shake. "And for your sake, I hope your time with her was worth it because you're never going to see her again."

"How dramatic of you, tell me, where's Veronica? Have we seen the last of her as well?"

"You figure it out."

"Oh, that's a shame. She wasn't in our league, Mr. Rippner. Not bad in the true sense of the word; just an impoverished girl with an overly affectionate father. Perhaps you should have been a little more understanding?"

A pathetic laugh followed, a distorted cackle that made Jackson wonder what sort of influence the good doctor's business partner truly had over him. Then, for a split second, his brow furrowed, the lines drawing deeper and further along his forehead as he recognized the sound and began to comprehend what was happening.

"Looks like your plans have sprung into action a little sooner than expected, Jon. Either that or your loyal business partner has abandoned you, but how could that happen to a man who runs such a tight ship?"

Crane huffed again and rose to his knees, trying to stand before the pain brought him back down. He languished there, doing and saying nothing, just breathing heavily with pain. When he finally did begin to speak, he refused to look Jackson in the eye.

"It doesn't matter when it happens; none of it matters, really. The end result will be largely the same."

"I suppose you're right, unless, of course, the police were given a heads up. Who knows, they could be on their way here right now. Maybe that's why your cohorts scattered like the roaches they are?"

Crane looked up in shock, "Not possible. They would….," and his mouth hung agape when Jackson held up the cell phone and waved it in the air. The doctor had never looked so surprised; like he could not have closed his mouth even if he'd wanted to, and if he was a man prone to theatrics – a man not unlike his current incredulous roommate – Jackson would have laughed maniacally and said, "My, how the tables have turned."

But instead, he decided to point out the doctor's faults; each and every one.

"There won't be an attack on Gotham. You were so damn busy trying to get into your daughter's pants that you got sloppy. Speaking of which," he began, looking down at that pool of vomit and feeling thankful that it was there; serving as the only thing Ava could have done to stop this monster dead in his tracks, "so did she. Things just aren't going your way."

"Well then, I'll admit it, Mr. Rippner, you do have me stumped. I'll ask the question. Why _am_ I still alive? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" His tone was mocking, playing along just for fun.

"I wanted you to know what was coming," Jackson said, brandishing the screwdriver that he knew had been meant for him. He had seen it on the nightstand by Vanessa's bed. A leather bound journal standing open next to two vials of unknown fluid. Sketched across the open pages were notes and a drawing concerning an unspeakable act; an act that would have left his body intact and his mind in a shambles. "I thought about you a lot over the years. I replayed our first showdown over and over again in my mind and I thought about what I'd do if I ever saw you again. I always thought it was a waste of time…but I guess not!"

All the while, as he spoke, Jackson never took his eyes off that weapon and he found it funny that Crane didn't either.

"I thought about castrating you. That withered piece of flesh between your legs has done its fair share of damage. But it's just not enough."

"Then I thought maybe prison would be good for you. Let you experience rape first hand, but with my luck you'd manipulate the dullards; have them working for you by the end of the day."

"I asked myself, what does Jonathan Crane fear? What's the one thing that separated him from the rest of the scum living in the Narrows? It's your mind, Jon. Without it, you're nothing."

And as Jackson approached he noted that for the first time ever, Jonathan Crane was terrified. He scurried, crab-like across the floor and away, curling his nose up once when his hand came to rest in Ava's sickness.

"You let her come back with me. You knew and you did nothing to prevent it," Crane said in desperation as he continued his retreat, forced to stop when his back hit the wall. "You know that I've never been able to resist a pretty face, not at Arkham, and certainly not now."

"Now would be the time for begging, not sarcasm, Doc."

"You let her return with me because your true interest lies with Vanessa."

"Where are you going with this?" Jackson asked.

"Little girls need their mothers. Who else will go to her when she wakes up in the night, and you know damn well she will, who will go to her? Who will get her through it….you? We're civilized men, Mr. Rippner. We can settle on terms that will be mutually beneficial for both of us."

And the mere fact that Jackson didn't respond at all egged Crane on, gave him a glimmer of hope. "You really are crazy," was his delayed response.

"Oh, stop being so damned provincial; afraid to make a deal with the devil? You're a logical man; you know how easy it is to hate, how hard it is to truly love another person. But you love Vanessa, that's as plain as the nose on your face. I'll give her to you. I'll let you have both of them and in exchange, I walk out of here a free man."

"Never," Jackson replied. He could never be given the time, the chance to regroup and strike at them again for any reason. Nothing could be worth such a price. Crane knew as much and he was ready with his words, quickly sowing the seeds of doubt.

"Think about this. Trust your feelings, not your sense of obligation. Without me, Vanessa's life is over. I know I left those vials in plain sight but without my knowledge, you'll never know how to combine them and the wrong dose will be fatal. Let's face it, the only man who ever stood a chance of doing so is Lucius Fox and as we both know, he's been dead for two years now."

"You're right," Jackson said, letting his hands fall to his sides but his grip on the screwdriver stayed firm.

"I know," he responded in a conciliatory fashion. "And I will make things very simple for you. I'll wake Vanessa. When it's done we all go our separate ways. Doesn't that sound fair?" Crane asked as he rose to feet and came closer, stopping when he was little more than two feet from Jackson.

"I…," Jackson began.

"Give me the screwdriver, Mr. Rippner, stop this foolishness."

Crane leaned forward tentatively and Jackson recoiled. They stood there, staring at one another, mirror images, until his arch nemesis felt enough time had passed and made a second grasp at salvation.

"This is the proper choice, Mr. Rippner. Rest assured you are doing the right thing."

Crane's icy fingers brushed against Jackson's hand and he grabbed the doctor, pulling him forward with all his strength. For this act, he needed the momentum.

"I know I am" he said as the screwdriver made contact and Crane fell to the floor clutching his right eye. He may very well be sending Vanessa to her doom, but with Ava hanging in the balance, he knew he had done what she would have wanted, what she would have demanded. Somehow he knew that, like any mother, she would lay down and die for her child without so much as a second thought and it would have been a cold day in hell before he ever swallowed one of Crane's mile long lines of bullshit.

Listening to Crane whimper, Jackson knew that the job wasn't done just yet. He was sprawled across the floor, the screwdriver having gone in at the wrong angle; straight back into the corner of his eye, just beside the tear duct, instead of angled upward as it should have been and as a result Crane had lost an eye, not his mind, not yet.

And what a gruesome sight it was. There was blood, though not as much as Jackson had been expecting. What he mostly saw was fluid, some clear and watery, some of it more gelatinous, slipping between Crane's fingers and down the side of his face. When Crane pulled his hand away, sucking in air and looking as if he were about to faint, Jackson saw that damaged, misshapen eye, resting in its socket like a deflated balloon; taken aback by the sight, only for a moment, he approached, feeling not an ounce of sympathy.

When Crane came to his senses and realized how close Jackson was, he began to fight; reaching up to claw and grab at his face as Jackson easily subdued him, straddling the good doctor and effectively pinning his arms to the floor.

"Goodbye, Dr. Crane," he said, angling the screwdriver upward and driving it in until it would go no further. Crane cried out, and then began to shake uncontrollably as Jackson wiggled the object about. After hearing an audible crack Jackson was certain he'd destroyed the mind that had brought misery to so many others via this intentionally botched trans-orbital lobotomy. It was finally over and now that it was done, Crane lay there so still that Jackson bent down, intent on checking for a pulse.

"Don't move!" yelled a voice from behind, and Jackson raised his hands in the air when he heard a gun cock. "Stay right where you are, Crane."

Jackson swore he knew that voice.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Note:**** I wrote something! I actually wrote something! I can't believe so much time has passed and I apologize for my absence. **

**I must admit, I'm not entirely at ease with this chapter. It's been so long that I can't help but wonder if I've truly captured the emotion of the moment. Still, I had to start somewhere and if nothing else, I'm getting back into the swing of things. How wonderful it feels. **

**As always, thanks to emptyvoices, though I was so excited I didn't forward this particular chapter over to her…sorry! And thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**

**This story is winding down, but there's still some excitement left. As for Vanessa's fate….stay tuned.**


End file.
